


An Unexpected Friendship

by CIIX



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 05:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CIIX/pseuds/CIIX
Summary: To those entering this world, know that it is not the Middle Earth you are familiar with. Lay aside preconceptions, and step into a Middle Earth of a different sort.





	1. Prologue

Upon a stool sat a hobbit, deeply engrossed in writing his memoirs.  His hair combed and fluffed like a ball of wiry silver capping his head.  Sounds of his quill scratching upon the parchment was all he cared to hear.  He dabbed the tip at his tongue to moisten and scratched again. 

Bilbo paused when he heard the sounds of feet walking down the hall.  His nephew Frodo, holding a plate of cherries, took a bite of one and spat the pit out upon the plate.  

Frodo paused, as the floor started to shake.  Dishes rattled on their shelves. The terrible sound grew louder and louder.  Then, as soon as it came, it stopped.

Silence.

A plate slipped from the shelf and clashed to the floor. 

But even with that noise, Bilbo could not be bothered from his work.  He scratched along without a concern for who or what just thundered over his home. 

Then came a scraping upon the door.

“Oh, dash it all, who is that?!” Bilbo called with a grouchy tone. “Frodo, get the door!”

“I will, Uncle,” said Frodo.  He set the plate down and came to the door, opening it up and was greeted by a deep, and reverberating thrum.  

“Uncle!” Frodo called. “We have...an important visitor.”

Bilbo stood from his writing and turned as a beam of golden light filled the living room. A great trembling shook the room, the cacophony of rattling dishes punctuated by a sequence of basso thumps from above. He dove, catching a potted plant just before it smashed to the floor. A sigh of relief escaped, followed by a flush of irritation as he cast his gaze toward the gigantic, cat-like eye that filled the living room window.  The door was open. Frodo had stepped aside as a rush of hot wind filled the room.

Bilbo was beaming with a smile.

“Smaug,” said Bilbo. “You old worm.  It’s about time you got here. It’s a quarter past 10 and you are late. I can’t allow tardy visitors.”

“I go where I wish.” said Smaug, eyes narrowing at Bilbo’s criticism. “You dare resist?”

Bilbo scowled, the expression holding only a moment before a grin cracked his face.

The great eye in the window blinked many times, lids folding over and pulling back slowly across the glassy expanse.  The dragon rumbled a deep chuckle and the room trembled once more.

“One hundred and eleven years old,” said Smaug. “Happy birthday.”

“Is it today?” Bilbo asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Of course, Uncle,” said Frodo. “I’ve been getting invitation replies since last night.”

Bilbo clapped his hands, smiling with glee: “Oh, I’ve almost forgotten!”

With that, he scurried on down the hall, leaving Smaug and Frodo to look upon each other.  The large, black slit pupil following the elderly hobbit as he disappeared down the hall.

“Um, Bilbo,” began Smaug, his pupil coming to Frodo, casting its spotlight upon him. “Has he been a bit busy?”

“Writing, mostly,” said Frodo. “He is so insistent upon finishing that book of his.”

The dragon smiled warmly and rumbled a deep laugh. 

“His book,” Smaug remarked fondly. “To think it’s been 60 years...”

“I believe so,” said Frodo. “About around the time Bilbo had his 50th birthday, I believe.  Of course I wasn’t even born then.”

“You were barely a twinkle in your mother’s eyes,” said Smaug. “I can remember when you came to live here.  Bilbo didn’t know what to do with a boy who seemed to have a bit more Took in him than he ever did. And well, when I came to visit, I hardly knew how to handle little hobbit children. I recall him leaving you with me as well especially when your Tookishishness got the best of him.  ‘Don’t you mind if he chews on some of your big gems, hopefully he won’t break a tooth. Just make sure he doesn’t try to eat your coins. He’ll choke.’”

Frodo laughed.

“I remember bruising myself a few times sliding down the mounds of old elven and dwarven coins you had in your lair,” he said.

The scaly lip curled into a grin.

“Well, I am glad you turned out proper despite my horrible babysitting, Frodo.  Dragons, I’m afraid, don’t make good nannies.”

Frodo laughed again.

Smaug’s eye turned away as Bilbo stepped back into the living room.  The pupil pulsed as he focused upon the old hobbit.

“I could hear your stomping a mile away, Mr. Barrel-Rider,” the voice of the dragon sounding like a hot, hushed hiss. “You’re getting a little heavy.”

“Well, I’m not as springy or as graceful as I was when you met me, Smaug,” said Bilbo.

“Your breath sounds healthy and full,” said Smaug. “And your heartbeat sounds strong.”

“You could hear everything about me,” said Bilbo. “Feel my breath, hear me walk…nothing gets past you!”  He patted upon Frodo’s shoulder. “Frodo, my lad, if you would be so kind, put this on the gate.”

He handed him a sign that said ‘No Admittance except on Party Business.’  Smaug looked upon the sign with a curious eye and then to Bilbo with a shocked ‘humph’.  The dragon lifted his head to allow Frodo passage down towards the gate. Bilbo followed out the door and waved, catching the the eye’s attention.

“Here, while that keeps him busy, have a look at this.”

He came outside as the dragon snaked his neck around.  Bilbo held up a leather-bound red book. Smaug watched as Bilbo opened the book to show various collections of notes, drawings, pressed leaves that he had collected over his travels.  Bilbo filed through the drawings. They were not of hobbits, but rather dwarves. He recognized one in particular. Thorin Oakenshield. Another was of Balin, and then Dwalin, and the rest of the 13 dwarves who came that one night nearly 60 years ago to ask the hobbit to take a rather important journey with them.  Then, Smaug saw another drawing, one of Bilbo in his younger days and then one of himself.

“There I am,” he said. “And with a lot less gray hair than I have now.”

“If you’re not too careful, you’ll be as gray as Old Gaffer’s,” said Bilbo.

Smaug chuckled.  He shifted his weight and his eyes spied through the window a familiar object laid out in the living room.   Inside the glass case was a map with tattered edges and inked in a mixture of Khuzdul, the language of the dwarves, and regular Westron Common.  In the center was a mountain and flowing out from it, a river that emptied into a large lake to the south. Flying overhead was a red-inked drawing of a dragon spouting fire and an area marked ‘Desolation of Smaug’.  It was the map of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain.

“Midsummer’s Eve is not far off,” the dragon said. “And I do believe there is a crescent moon that night as well.  We should take the map out and let the moon runes glow in the light once again. Just for old time’s sake.”

“Perhaps,” said Bilbo. 

Smaug deeply chuckled, giving the hobbit a gentle nudge from his snout.

“But I am glad you are here,” Bilbo said, patting the dragon’s snout. “You can do me a big favor and keep guard outside.  Chase away anyone who might come by…especially any Sackville Baggins!”

“So, that’s why you wanted me to come so early,” said Smaug with a heavy sigh. “You want me to play guard dog?”

“Oh it’s just for a moment,” he said. “So I can have my peace, get ready, finish a little bit on my writing, and all that.”

“Sixty years of friendship and I’ve been reduced to guard dog duty,” the dragon huffed a whiff of smoke from his nostrils, but this was just for show: amusement danced in his eyes.

“Don’t be that way, old friend,” said Bilbo. “It’s just for a moment.  Besides, if that horrible woman, Lobelia Baggins sees you, she’ll turn tail and run before you can even roar and spout fire at her!”

“And I could be labeled a disturber of the peace just as Gandalf,” said Smaug. “Oh, wait I was, wasn’t I?  When you found all your things being auctioned off upon your return. If I hadn’t had scared the daylights from their eyes, you would have ended up with a lot less than you left.”

“And as always, I am ever so grateful, O Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities,” Bilbo clapped his hand to one of the dragon’s large, jutting fangs.

The dragon rumbled with another chuckle.

“Oh, I just got a message from…Gandalf.  He’s coming to the party. He says he’s brought some of his best fireworks.”

Bilbo picked up his books and papers, heading back into his study again, leaving the door open for Smaug to continue to talk through.  Bilbo felt Bag End vibrate again as the dragon followed him upon the roof and he opened a window up.

“Oh, how did you talk to him?” he asked.

The window was suddenly filled with the amber orb of Smaug’s enormous eye.

“Butterfly,” the dragon replied.

Bilbo chuckled: “I don’t see how you or Gandalf can send messages using moths and butterflies.  In fact, I didn’t know you spoke butterfly.”

“It’s an easy dialect,” Smaug said with a cheeky smile. “Perhaps I should show you some time.”

Bilbo paused as he took his quill out.  He grinned somberly.

“Yes, perhaps,” he said.  He turned around and his face brightened. “I would like that!”

“I don’t communicate with him very often,” said Smaug. “He has been a little busy.  Keeping things from me…”

“Well, you know how Gandalf is,” said Bilbo as he scratched at his parchment. “He comes and goes as he please, always have, always will.”  

Smaug replied with a deep, though concerned thrum, which rattled the window.

“And you forgot to greet me in Elvish,” said Bilbo, craning up to look at the eye.

“Which one?”

“Sindarin,” said Bilbo. “Though I’m surprised you still know some Quenya.  You’re one of the very few who speak it.”

“Which greeting do you wish me to say?” the dragon asked.

“Any of them!  Just throw something out.  Come on, let’s hear one.”

“Very well, then,” said Smaug.  The eye blinked as the dragon thought. “Let me see.  Ah, here’s one.  _ Edinor veren. _  Happy birthday.”

Bilbo’s smile faded and he twitched his nose in disappointment, returning his attention to his writing.

“Oh, is that all you could think of?” he asked. “And you call yourself the Wyrm of A Thousand Tongues.”

“No, you called me that,” said Smaug. “About five years after you brought me home from Erebor.  Among many other fine titles. I never had so many until I met an overly placating hobbit like you.”

Bilbo chuckled: “Well, I was trying to save my hide.  And you asked me if flattery would save me. It did, more than once!”  He turned back to the dragon and grinned. “And you know you liked it, you old arrogant lizard.  Admit it.”

“Yes, I did,” said Smaug. “Smaug the Magnificent.  I loved that one the best.”

“Fits you.”

“Alright, a nice one,” said the dragon. “Quenya, here we go.   _ Elen sí la lú menn’ omentielvo.” _

“That’s better,” said Bilbo, his eyes twinkling in the candle light.

“Or just the Sindarin version,” Smaug continued.  _ “Gîl síla erin lû e-govaded vín.” _

“Now you’re just showing off,” said Bilbo.

The two headed outside and Bilbo brought out his pipe.  Smaug climbed the hill, his far reaches spanning over each mound, filling the countryside until his tremendous girth became the landscape itself. He had grown in the 60 years, as well fed dragons generally do, nearly reaching 462 feet now.  Bilbo marked each growth in a journal to account for the dragon’s growing mass. And then he added his studies to the memoirs he wrote. 

Smaug draped his gigantic paws over the edge of Bag End, crossing them as his long, serpentine tail swished idly.  He took great care not to lean all of his weight upon the hobbit hole. The dragon looked down at his old friend with a fond smile.  

His smile faded when he noticed Bilbo’s hand.  It gripped the pocket, each knuckle twitching nervously.  

Smaug rumbled and then shook his head.  He knew very well what it was that the hobbit gripped and it brought him no end of sadness.  He could tell that Bilbo was changing, even back then, and it was that magic ring’s fault. Still, there was a part of him that prevented him from reaching out and snatching the ring up from Bilbo’s pocket.  Something even darker kept his mind occupied enough that when the thought came to tell Gandalf, it left before it could reach his mouth.

Smaug’s auburn mane was fading each time his mind touched upon the ring as his strength seeped away from him.  He never felt so tired in an age, but sleep would not give him solace of rest. Sleep only made his weariness worse.

“Such a lovely day, isn’t it?” Bilbo asked as he puffed out a smoke ring.

The dragon’s thoughts tore away from the ring in the hobbit’s pocket.

“Yes it is,” said Smaug. “So hard to believe how long it has been.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “I seem to recall you were a quite different person…dragon…then.  A little bit more uptight, bit more arrogant too. The Shire has changed you.”

“Not completely,” he said. “I’ve mellowed, I will admit.  But, not by much. You recall, I didn’t come here just to have some vacation and then stay.”  His eyes narrowed. “I have a reason to be here.”

“Indeed,” said Bilbo as his hand slipped out of his pocket.  He patted it. “And I do believe that reason will keep you here.”

“Keep me here,” Smaug echoed, his eyes drifting away from Bilbo.

Doubt riddled heavily upon his brow.

He could not tell him, not now.  

He needed something to distract himself from those dark musings.  

He started to hum to himself, a familiar tune that Bilbo once heard those years ago, sung by the dwarves who came to his home.  The hobbit joined him in his hum. Smaug softly began to sing the song.

 

_ “Far over the misty mountains cold _

_ To dungeons deep, and caverns old _

_ We must away ere break of day _

_ To seek the pale enchanted gold. _

 

_ “The pines were roaring on the height, _

_ The winds were moaning in the night. _

_ The fire was red, it flaming spread; _

_ The trees like torches blazed with light.” _

 

Bilbo laughed as he puffed another smoke ring.  They sat in silence after that, just watching the white, puffy clouds float on by in the gentle breeze. Despite the cheerful weather of the Shire, a sullen mood swept through his mind, a mood he worked to conceal from his friend.  He did not want to ruin Bilbo’s birthday with mulling or moaning. 

Smaug rumbled and then shook his head. Bilbo was changing. He knew what the hobbit gripped, he knew was at fault. He wished to snatch the source away before it could do more damage, but he could not dare to do so.

A simple object holding a cursed darkness, one sufficient to stay even a dragon’s claws.

Bilbo had his own tale to share about the day when Gandalf the Grey brought 13 dwarves down upon his doorstep, with their hopes of regaining a kingdom…by slaying the dragon who took it. But Smaug knew that story was a mere chapter in a larger work.

One he had lived for eons.

Far off in the east, across the Misty Mountains, stood one single solitary peak: Erebor, the Lonely Mountain.  Over 200 years ago, a dragon came out from the Withered Heath and attacked that mountain. 

Smaug the Golden.

The last of the Great Urulóki, the gigantic, powerful Fire Drakes of Morgoth. No other dragons were a match for a Great Urulokë, but these giants of fire, scales, and wings were fortunately few in number, a legacy of an earlier age.  

And so, he attacked Erebor, laid to waste the city of Dale, and burned his way into the mountain to covet the Dwarves treasure and gold for himself.

Yet the Urulokë the dwarves came to know as Smaug the Terrible held a deeper tale. One involving a much different mountain.

And something else made of gold.

But far more precious.


	2. The Flame in the Shadow

he story starts as well as any other, though this one starts high in the mountains to the north.  In the Withered Heath, a barren, cold land where the dragons lived, high in the Grey Mountains and the Northern Wastelands. 

Into this desolate place marched an party of elves, led by the Woodland King Thranduil.  He drove his hunt north to scour the land of those hideous worms, knowing well that dark powers could recruit one of these horrible creatures to their sides. Thranduil had faced such dangers through the Goblin Wars, and these hunts kept them at bay while the Alliance of Men and Elves took on Morgoth’s protégé, the Deceiver himself. 

Frigid winds battered the group as Thranduil directed them northward.  Elves were hardy folk, but he knew even this cold could defeat them. Yet even as the thought entered his mind the cold and snow suddenly gave way to heat and fog.

Dragons.

Tens, perhaps hundreds of dragons of various sizes and colors lay strewn about the rocky valley ahead, resting. Distant wings wheeled in the sky, and the valley echoed with the rumble of deep lungs. He jumped back behind the craggy boulders that littered the place, his personal guards diving behind him. He glanced back around and counted.

The odds were not good.

A burst of flame rent the sky, a horrible torrent of flames spiraling from massive jaws, a group of the cold worms vanishing in the great heat.  He ducked lower being the boulder glancing overhead as sparks of glowing embers and ash rained down upon him and his elves. 

This dragon’s fire burned hot.

Not even the dragon's own kindred could withstand it.  They only withered to ash upon the licking tongues of his flames, unable to stand up to his deadly power.  Tremendous wings spread and flapped, a terrible scattering the winged wyrms in all directions. The red-golden dragon dove, snatching up one of the smaller dragons into his great jaws and clamped down, breaking its neck.  Then, he dropped it upon the ground, it's bloody, ruined form splattering wetly against the rock nearby. 

He drew back, a hand signal directing his guards to retreat further into the rock formation.

Another was caught, and another, and another, until the Great Fire Drake had caught enough to suit his fill.  The other dragons had long scattered in fear of this behemoth of wings and fire, yielding the battlefield to his power.

The great monster descended, the foes his elves fought furiously against dispatched with little effort.  The beast landed and began feasting upon the kills he had gathered, the crack of bone and the grate of scale audible as his jaws worked.

The terrible bestial power took his breath away.

“What do we do,  _ âr nín?”  _ one of his huntsmen whispered. “Do we attack the  _ lokë?” _

“No,” replied Thranduil. “We do not.  This worm is very powerful. It would be unwise to disturb his feast.”

“Then, what do we do?”

“We wait,” Thranduil said, turning to his general. “We wait until he leaves.”

For nearly a half a day the dragon ate from its kills. He had heard that the larger worms would often feast upon the smaller ones, clearing out the sickly and diminishing the population. For all he could care, they should all do just that: eat themselves until only one was left.

Then he would slay it.  

When the last small worm was picked clean, the Urulokë rose. It cleaned its paws free of the black blood of his kind, then groomed itself until the scales shimmered in the moonlight.  The cold air of the north blew into its shaggy mane, whipping it about its long wolfish snout The dragon gave a shake to the heavy pelt lining its back.

Then two searching eyes turned to meet his.

He tensed as the massive dragon now took notice of them, shifting to make ready to move.  Their eyes locked, neither moving. He could sense the dragon studying him. The Great Fire Drake’s lips seemed to curl, a low, quaking thrum reverberating from its throat. It quivered with the dragon’s great breath, huge puffs of steam escaped the dragon’s nostrils. Its large, pointed ears twitched.

A wind whipped his hair as the dragon spread its wings, scales aflame with the crimson light of the setting sun. His party of of elves bent under the gale as the dragon took off, disappearing into the purple band splitting day from night.

He was at last able to breath, the dragon’s stare broken. He surpassed a shiver, unbecoming of a king.

It was a treat he thought, to see such a grand monster.

The monster Ëarendil spared upon the peaks of Thangorodrim.

“It truly is him,” he said. “From the ashes of Ancalagon, he was born. From darkness, came the light of the flame. Naurimôr.” He took a breath. “The look in his eye is held by no dragon, save for either Glaurung or Ancalagon.  That dragon is no witless worm.”

_ “Âr nín?”  _

He turned to his generals, meeting their looks of confusion. They were silvan elves, their minds…simpler, their knowledge…incomplete. Though counted among them, he was one of the Sindar, as with most rules of the Elven. And from this came much knowledge of the Goblin Wars, including a secret very few knew. 

A secret he had just seen made flesh.

A secret that had saved his life and departed.

“I wish to find that dragon,” said Thranduil.  “I will find it.”

“For what purpose?”

He paused and tilted his head, cold gray-blue eyes narrowing as he dwelled upon the question.

“For my own,” he replied shortly.

Many years of fruitless searching passed as Thranduil failed to find the elusive creature.  But he would not yield, he did not abandon his search. For the dragon haunted his dreams each night, the drive to find it like a sickness.  Nearly two fruitless centuries passed until Thranduil finally found his quarry.

Naurimôr.

The Flame in the Shadow.

The Great Fire Drake had made his home in the Misty Mountains just below the River Isen, near the Gap of Rohan. He dared to enter the lair, leaving the wintery cold and ice-capped mountain behind him. The great thrum of the dragon’s breath, echoed through the cavern, deepening as the light of day fell further behind. Thranduil could feel the sweltering heat of the dragon, the cavern attempting to bake him in his heavy winter clothes. 

For the first time, beads of perspiration dappled his fair complexion. He brushed a lock of his long, silky, pale blonde hair from his steely eyes.

He breathed heavily as he filed between the tall rocky spires of stalagmites, their rows parting like a curtain to reveal what lay beyond.

At last, Thranduil came to his prize.

There he laid upon a vast bed of gold, jewels, ancient weapons from the wars past.   Thranduil pressed on, feeling his heart flutter in his chest with a rise of his fear.  His throat became dry in the heat. His foot stepped forward, kicking a loose stone across the cave floor.  The stone skittered across, the pitter-patter echoing through the cavern, until it splashed into a small mound of gold coins.  Thranduil stood still, his eyes wide as he heard the note of the dragon’s rumble shift its pitch higher. The sound’s beat became faster.  Thranduil heard the dragon’s tail shift in the mounds and mounds of gold and jewels. A wing flexed and stretched and paw joints cracked as the dragon started to stir.  The dragon’s eyes opened and a rays of golden light spilled out from their orbs. Their beams began to search the darkness as the dragon slowly lifted his head up. Thranduil ducked behind a fractured rock upon the floor.

“Well, thief,” said the dragon with a low, slow rumble and a deep, raspy whisper. “I smell you.  I feel your air and I hear your breath. Where are you hiding?”

Thranduil took in a deep breath and sprang up.  The beams of light from the dragon’s eyes swiftly roved over and centered the elf in their spotlight.  Thranduil held up a hand to shield himself from their light.

“There you are!” the dragon said pleasantly. “Little thief.”

“I am no thief,” said Thranduil.

Naurimôr snaked his head around.  The ground quaked and jingled with the shift of the coins and the quake of the dragon’s great weight.  Thranduil could hear the rustle of the dragon’s great leathery wings as he moved closer to the elf.

“You are no goblin either,” said the dragon. “I’ve had to deal with many of them.  They always tried to steal coins from my bed to give to their smelly, fat, bloated, Great Goblin!  But you, you are an elf!”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then, who do I owe this special visit?” the dragon asked, his eyes continued to lock upon Thranduil’s own.

The elven king could feel the hot energy of the dragon’s spells work their way into his mind the longer he gazed into those glowing eyes.  He could not look away and he felt the tingling fall of his own psyche as he fell prey to the dragon’s hypnotic gaze.

“Thranduil,” he replied. “I am Thranduil.”

“Thranduil!” the dragon roared.

The cavern quaked at the sound of the dragon’s voice.  Loose rock and dust tumbled down from the ceiling above.  Thranduil backed up against a rock wall as the dragon boomed his name.  As the sound of his name echoed off, trailing into the distance, the dragon returned his gaze upon the elf.

“The Woodland King decided to  _ grace _ me with a visit,” the dragon said, lacing each syllable with an acrid hiss. “I wonder if I should feel honored by this, or if I should just kill you right here.”

“You did not kill me that day in the Withered Heath,” Thranduil began. “And I do not believe you will kill me now.”

“Brave words,” Naurimôr rumbled as he tilted his head at the elf.  He leaned in and gave a deep, deep sniff to Thranduil, taking in his scent.  The dragon licked his lips with his long, forked tongue, hungrily. “And you came alone.”

“Not completely,” said Thranduil. “My guards are outside.”

“But you entered my chambers alone,” said the dragon lowly with a hiss of delight. “Very foolish of such an esteemed leader.”

Thranduil backed away, feeling the harsh, brimstone scented breath of the dragon splash upon his face.  He twitched his nose, his uncomfort rising steadily.

“I’ve...I’ve come to see you,” said Thranduil.

The dragon shifted, leaning his head closer until all that filled Thranduil's vision was nothing more than a single, bright, fiery eye.

“Have you now?” 

“Yes, Naurimôr,” said Thranduil.

“You refer to me by the name the Mariner gave me,” said the dragon. “Perchance do you know of me more than what you saw in the Withered Heath?”

“I know, a little.  You are the light that broke Ancalagon’s darkness.”

The eye narrowed as its great, slit pupil widened and the dragon rumbled threateningly.  Smoke appeared from the dragon’s nostrils. The elf swallowed as the eye leaned in even closer.

“Why have you sought me?” the dragon asked.

“Because you let me live just as Ëarendil let you live,” he replied.

“And you feel like I am in debt to you because one of your race decided not to slay me?” the dragon asked.

“No!” said Thranduil.

“No indeed, little elf king,” the dragon rumbled. “I am willing to spare your life one more time and bid you to flee from my lair and never return here!”

The dragon’s head pulled back and Thranduil felt the heat swell around him again.

“And if you do not leave as swiftly as you can,” he continued, his voice becoming a terrifying growl. “Then I shall render you to ash where you stand.”

“Then I ask you not to,” said Thranduil. “For if you do, my elves will hunt you down and slay you for such an action.  I am indebted to you for sparing my life and the lives of my soldiers that day.”

“Then you can repay me by leaving,” said the dragon.

“No.  I wish to offer you something.  A foul disease is spreading across my Greenwood.  The Northmen who live there are calling it Mirkwood now.  Goblins are making their homes in the mountains. Spiders, giant spiders, are crawling out of a place now called Dol Guldur.”

The dragon shifted and backed away.  Thranduil heard the thunderous splat of the dragon’s lengthy, sinuous tail as he shifted his bulk around.  The dragon appeared concerned when he heard this news and his eyes grew distant. Thranduil exhaled as if the first time doing so in such a long while as the dragon reared up and then placed his claw upon his chest.  

“You are called Naurimôr by Ëarendil,” Thranduil began. “But to the Dark Powers, you are known by another name.”

_ Trakûl… _

The dragon snorted and then wagged his head.  His eyes flashed with fury upon the elf.

“Do not speak of that name!” he roared and the cave trembled again. “Do not utter it.”

“You hate that name,” said Thranduil. “You were tricked by him.  Used by him...someone who dares never to be an equal to you?”

“What do you know about it?”

“Enough,” said Thranduil. “That war killed my father.”

“And why should I care about what you lost?”

“Because you are not alone in this world,” said Thranduil as he walked forward to the dragon.  

He stopped just at the edge of the bed of gold and gems when he heard the dragon growl his warning.  The dragon did not want Thranduil to even set foot upon his precious gold. Thranduil dipped his head and returned his gaze upon the dragon once more. 

“You lost something when dealing with that dark creature.  I lost something too. And both of us have been made miserable since.”

The dragon lowered his head upon his forepaws and curled his tail over his snout.

“You know nothing of what I lost, elf,” he lowly whispered with a gurgling thrum touching each word.

“I wish to ask for your assistance,” said Thranduil. “As an equal.  This disease that has plagued my woods, I need help in destroying its foulness.”

“And why would I help you?”

“I will make it worth your while,” said Thranduil. “My realm is a trading hub leading down to a town known as Esgaroth...Lake Town, cared by the Men of Dale.  Riches flow from west to east, from north to south. Riches that can be ours. Riches from the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain...Erebor.”

The dragon shifted, leaning down, his pointed ears perking up with some interest to the elf’s news.

“I gather the bed you lay upon is from the dragons you slew in the north,” said Thranduil.

“They are nothing compared to me,” he said.

“I can provide you more than what all those worms have,” said Thranduil. “And all you have to do is help me defend my forest from the darkness that seeps from Dol Guldur.”

“Erebor,” the dragon said in a slow breath. “Who defends it?”

“Dwarves of Durin’s Folk,” replied Thranduil. “They came down from the Iron Hills, I believe.  One of them styled himself as King Under the Mountain. Ever did they delve deeper and discovered riches like nothing anyone has seen.”

“Perhaps I shall give you a trial,” said the dragon. “And see this for myself.  Allow me to come inside your kingdom to see these treasures with my own eyes.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil. “Though, I am not certain if you can fit inside my kingdom.  You would destroy it with just a foot.”

The dragon chuckled deeply, amused by the elf’s ignorance.  Without a word, he reared back and swept his wings across his form.  The dragon’s rusty red-golden body seemed to blend with the shadows of his lair.  Then, stepping out from the shadows, in a limp stride, came a hulking, but crouching and hobbling towards the elven king.  It was dressed in a robe of leather, burlap, and fox furs, layers upon layers that disguised its form and a huge hood. Thranduil tried to see behind the hold, but all he could find was darkness and two burning eyes.  Then he pulled the hood away to reveal his warg-like head and gave a shake to his mane.

“I think I can fit rather well in your kingdom, elf,” he said.

“I have never seen such an act performed by anyone, let alone a dragon,” said Thranduil.

“It is a difficult trick to do indeed, elf,” the dragon replied with a low rumble. “One that required much time, much care to hone.  After all, as I grew larger, the caves of my prey became smaller. I had to figure out how to get to their gold somehow, hmmmm?” 

The dragon grinned, a toxic, fanged, wide smile that sent a chill down Thranduil’s spine. 

“Also, it made things rather easier to listen for news among the masses.  No one’s coming to my lair to inform me of the comings and goings of the world.”

Though as the dragon drew closer, the elf could now see a feature he did not quite catch in the shadow of the cavern.  The dragon’s mane had a single, slender streak of silver. Thranduil recalled upon their first meeting and he did not remember that the dragon had that lock before.  He brushed it aside, returning his thoughts to the present.

This dragon was truly one of a kind.  Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and a grin spread across his face.  He had found himself a treasure far greater than that of gold or jewels.

 


	3. Woodland’s Daughter

Time had passed.  The dragon gained a new name Trahân, which meant in at least the Silvan dialect, “he who pushes through a small hole.”  His very presence so far kept the Woodland Kingdom safe, and for that, he was rewarded. Thranduil was good on his words, though he had yet given the dragon the gold he promised.  Thranduil gave a few trinkets here and there, much the dragon’s own displeasure. However, the Fire Drake decided to show his patience, and he stayed his wrath. 

Thranduil informed many elven rulers to leave this particular dragon alone, despite some disgruntled disagreements from a few.  Elrond so far kept his own opinion of this to himself due to the fact it was his own father who was responsible for Naurimôr’s survival.

Thranduil wanted to keep a close eye upon his prize, so he brought forth a prize and melded them both together.  As he watched Naurimôr, he saddled his care with one of his favorite captains, a red-haired Silvan female named Tauriel.  It was not an easy beginning for them. Naurimôr cursed having a she-elf for a shadow. She always kept at his heels, even when he merely drifted just outside the borders of the Woodland Realm.

What peace he had from her was in his own lair.  He could dwell upon dark thoughts of the past, sullen and respite.  But even that gave him not what he wanted.

Eventually, the dragon gave into having an elven shadow.  He commended her persistence, silently of course. No matter how many times he tried to scare her away, she stood strong against his fury.  This only intrigued him more and endeared him to her.

As he walked the plains between the mountains and the Carrock, giving his legs a decent exercise, she was not far behind him.  Naurimôr picked up speed, his trot became a slow gallop. 

Tauriel matched his pace.  

The red-golden dragon stopped and craned his head over the shoulder of his wing.  Tauriel stopped as well, only a hundred paces from his right hind foot.

“Do you enjoy this?” Naurimôr asked.

“Enjoy what?” Tauriel returned his question.

“This game we play,” he said. “I run and you give chase.  It seems each time I visit the border of the Greenwood, there you are...ready to follow.  My shadow.”

“I do as I am ordered to do,” said Tauriel. 

“So you do,” said the dragon as he settled himself down on the grass plain. “Do you like being a dragon’s shadow?”

“If it pleases my king,” said Tauriel. “Then yes.”

“But I could just very well swallow you whole if it so pleases me, or if you out wear your welcome, little elf.”

“Then do so, no one is stopping you.”

A deep, amused chuckle vibrated the dragon’s tan throat. His forked tongue swiftly lashed out between the part of his lips, licking at the thought of having such a tasty treat.

“Such fire you have for even inviting me to do so!”

The dragon leaned down, slowly inching closer and closer to Tauriel.  She tensed up, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. His eyes narrowed upon her, pupils thin lines inside the golden pools.  He breathed in, taking her scent, sweet like wild flowers. Satisfied to cast that imprint to mind, he backed slowly away.

“You are good at hiding your fear,” he said. “But, you cannot hide it from me.”

“I am not afraid of you, worm.”

The dragon chuckled, a smile curling upon his lips.

“You are not a very good liar.  But your silly attempts to hide your fear, even denying it, brings me some pleasure.”

“The pleasures of dragons,” said Tauriel. “A sallow and sickening thought of what you would enjoy.  Those who cower before you are the ones who bring you your pleasure.

“Indeed,” the dragon drew his snout closer to her. “But I want something more from you than fear.”

“And what is that?” 

“Come to me again, Tauriel, and perhaps I will tell you.”

His voice was soft, a deep purr rattling inside her chest.  Almost invasive. She swallowed. A wrist trembled, breaking the mask she desperately hid behind when in the presence of the dragon.

Tauriel took in a deep breath and then exhaled when she heard a voice calling her name from the edge of the forest.

_ “Ai Tauriel telo hí.” _

_ “Ná caun nín,”  _ she replied.

The dragon dipped his head and rumbled lowly upon greeting the visitor.

_ “Mê dh’vannen Legolas Thranduilion,”  _ he said.

Legolas’ eyes only narrowed upon the dragon.  He kept his distance from him, more from caution, though it could be mistaken for fear.  Legolas was the son of Thranduil, a prince among his people, but that never made him no less of a fighter.  However, even he had his limits and this dragon surpassed them.

_ “Nan barad Tauriel,”  _ Legolas said as he turned his eyes back to Tauriel.

Tauriel nodded and then started for the forest.  She only paused momentarily and turned back to the dragon.

_ “Galu,”  _ she said.

_ “Môr nín padol nedh gilgalad,”  _ the dragon said, giving her a simple dismiss with a wave of his claw.  _ “Galu.” _

He rose upon his paws as he watched the two elves disappear into the forest.  So long as he remained in the Wilderland plains separated the Great Greenwood from the Misty Mountains, or traveling alongside the River Anduin, he did not require much of an escort.  The Fire Drake extended his wings and arched his back in a long, much needed stretch. He stretched his neck, feeling the joints in his spine pop and he let loose a mighty yawn. Then, he gave a shake to his mane, folding his wings upon his back, giving the membrane digits one last wiggle.  The dragon sighed with a puff of white wispy clouds flowing from his nostrils. He took to the sky, heading a little ways north to the Misty Mountains, and into his lair. 

As he settled upon the ledge, the dragon’s keen golden eyes spied a peak rising above the horizon and the purple haze.  The Lonely Mountain, Erebor, where Thranduil told him of the vast riches mined by the dwarves. Naurimôr settled his great body upon the rocky, pale ledge and eyed the peak with heavy interest.

The mountain called him.  He itched to answer it.


	4. Môr dîn

The dragon could feel the darkness spreading throughout the forest and it pressed his weight upon him as the years began to stack up.  He gave the goblins a run for their lives as he set up his lair. It was an easy access to Mirkwood Forest. The goblins had driven the elves from Emyn Fuin and likewise  Naurimôr began to drive them out. For a few decades, he would sleep in his new lair, though his dreams did not grant him a peaceful slumber. He dreamt of darkness seething upon him, choking him, stealing the breath from his lungs, stealing the fire from his very heart.  He felt a hand reach out and a stubby finger caress him and whispers and a droning chant uttered in this darkness.

_ My precious, my love...my own.  Bless us and splash us! My precious. _

The hands were cold, clammy, slimy.  They sent a shiver down his spine as he could feel them reach up to gently grope his scales.  He clawed upon the stone, turning in his sleep as if he desperately wanted to escape from whatever it was that touched him.  But he could not get away, he could not escape. No matter how much he wanted to, he could not escape the grasp of this creature.  He could hear the voice of this creature clearly as if it was in the chamber with him.

_ So bright...so beautiful...my precious...my own, my love… _

“Precious,” the dragon softly rumbled. “My...precious…”

_ My birthday present...yesss… _

He roused from his slumber, at last able to escape the voice and the hands who touched him so disgustingly.  The dragon held to his chest and began to cough, a gurgling noise came from him as spittle dripped from his lips.  Never had he felt so cold. He filtered through his golden bed, splashing the coins everywhere as he searched for something, something round, something golden, something he felt he lost.

There amid the jewels and golden coins was a simple golden wedding band.  Though he could sense no magic from it. It was a ring he claimed after raiding a small Cold Drake’s lair during the beginning of the Third Age of the Sun.  Gently he picked it up with a talon and then held it in the palm of his paw. Naurimôr tilted his head to look upon it. It was a simple ring, it was nothing more than that.  It had no power. Though, just looking upon it brought a wave of fear to him. The dragon growled and belched forth his flames upon the ring. His fire did not harm him, he felt comfort when he breathed his flames upon his scales.

Welcoming warmth.

For only a moment.  

But the ring was not so lucky.  His flames were so hot that the gold itself melted within mere seconds.  All that was left was a ring-shaped, fiery white hot goo on his paw. He wiped it free upon the rock floor and as it cooled, it gave the rock a bit of a golden shine.  

That ring he could destroy.  His fires could destroy. Of course, his mind concluded. What ring could his fires not melt?  What gold could not become molten hot by his searing heat? Anything that touched his fire was rendered to ash, if at that.

But there was one ring he could not destroy.  One ring. One. 

One ring.

“My precious,” he hissed again.  It was precious to him, more precious than gold itself, than jewels.  Riches meant nothing to him when his mind graced upon that one ring. Deep down he wanted it.  Nothing could sate his desires for it.

Naurimôr curled up, shivering as he lingered upon the ring.  Clutching at it in his mind, holding it close, tender. 

Caressing it.

Keeping it with him.

Always.

Great bat wings, larger than his body, folded around him.

They offered no warmth.

Every night, he still heard that voice sickenly sweet, cooing to him and the hands fondling him.  He could feel himself being lost with every stroke of each slimy finger.

He flew towards a small pond near his lair and took one more look upon his reflection.  Upon his auburn brown, shaggy mane, Naurimôr spied another streak of silver growing out from his hairline.  Dragons do not age, not in the same way as Men. They did age, and as they aged, they grew larger, more powerful.  

A riddle, amusing, that dragons like Ancalagon, and now even Naurimôr, because they were fashioned with powerful primordial, immortal spirits from the time before the world was made, they were as immortal as the elves themselves.  (Lesser dragons fashioned afterwards in such haste as wartime would call for, were not granted such eternal life.) They could not succumb to sickness and die from it, nor die from old age. They could however be slain. 

But Naurimôr was beginning to show signs of aging despite what gifts he was granted.  It was not natural to see him aging in the reflection. He cursed it as as a hex upon his person, placed there by the one who tricked him, who deceived him.  He wanted power, riches, but he got neither.

He lost something.

Precious.

And he wants it back!

The dragon splashed the water with his paw with heated anger and took off for the Woodland Realm, reminded about another who promised him riches.  He was growing desperate. There were fewer and fewer payments coming to him from Thranduil. The king had promised him riches of his own presence would steer the darkness leaking from Dol Guldur.  He could sense the pull of Dol Guldur, but the call of this nameless voice and those fingers caressing him in his dreams disturbed him more. 

He was violated even in his peaceful slumber, where he could be safe and control all the world to his own whims.  Now even the entities who he sought to dismiss and forget were resurfacing.

The Woodland Realm doors hid it from the prying eyes of those who would threaten it and only would be revealed when King Thranduil ordered it to.  However, it could not be hidden from a raging dragon whose dreams constantly disturbed him, and whose patience was wearing thin. Trahân burned through the concealment spell and thundered straight through the doors.  He shifted his form, shrinking down once more dressed in his concealing rust-colored cloak. As he took to the throne room and found Thranduil.

He sat upon his throne, looking uptight and superior, his eyes half lidded as he gazed upon the angered dragon in the cloak.   Naurimôr threw back his hood and pointed his taloned finger accusingly upon the king.

“I have waited long enough,” he said. “The riches you promised me, I barely received a single coin!”

“Then I must ask for forgiveness,” Thranduil said as he slowly descended his throne. “But riches I promised you I have been cheated from.”

“Cheated?”

“The Dwarves of Erebor,” said Thranduil. “They seem to want to mock me with their wealth while my realm withers beneath the shadow of that mountain.  They promised me jewels of starlight, jewels I was going to share with you, Trahân. The greedy, self-serving dwarves expect me to pay homage to their Arkenstone, and accept that they are my superiors!  They claim I stole something from them and that is why they will not relinquish what is rightfully...ours.”

He circled the dragon.

“They took something from me,” the elf king continued. “White jewels.  I asked them to make a necklace worthy of my beloved. And they had not given them back...saying that I owe them something in return.”

“Do not plague me with petty excuses,” said the dragon. “I grow weary of hearing them.  If you will not pay, then I will take your kingdom as payment for what is owed.”

“Please,” said Thranduil, keeping his smooth tone to the dragon. “Do not take my kingdom.  But if a kingdom you wish...maybe a kingdom you should have. There is one.”

Thranduil passed across the dragon and tilted his head smoothly, his mouth twitching.

“I hear a new name ringing out from mouths of the Northmen near the Carrock,” said Thranduil. “They call you Smaug, Smaug the Golden.  So named for your glistening scales. In their tongue, it means the same as Trahân, to push through small holes despite your size.” 

He touched the shoulder of the dragon, brushing off the fur pelts. 

“Smaug rumbles, Smaug growls, Smaug quakes the mountains with his roars as he sleeps.  Smaug wanders aimlessly, always looking south. Your dreams have been disturbed.”

“My dreams,” said the dragon. “Are not your concern, nor your business!” 

Smaug returned his heated gaze upon the elven king. 

“I am not to be toyed with, Thranduil.  I am not for you to command, to control.  I owe nothing to you, but you have owed everything to me.”

“What are your dreams about?” Thranduil asked.

“Did you not heed my warning?” Smaug replied with a huff. “They are none of your concern!”

“I think they are.  For when you dream, whatever spell you’ve warded my realm diminishes with them.  And these horrible creatures continue to spill into my forest. Whether you realize it or not, you are playing  _ right  _ into  _ his  _ hands!  You do as he wills.”

“He does not command me either.”

“Not consciously,” said Thranduil. “I see the pattern in you.  I’ve seen you mull about, shivering in the dark, staring at the sun with longing to remain in its glorious light.  Each time you think of him, of his little trinket that he used to drape the world in darkness during the Second Age, another one of your hairs turns gray.  I have never seen a dragon wither away much like many of my kin do when they grow restless and weary of the world. Perhaps another thousand years, you will be nothing more than a ghostly apparition, a phantom as  _ he  _ continues to consume your power.  Withered, forgotten.”

Smaug paused, holding his breath as Thranduil circled around.  

“Ëarendil never slew  _ him _ , did he?” the elven king asked.

Smaug’s eyes became downcast, his blood boiling inside of him.

“I almost pity you,”  Thranduil said silkily to the dragon. “You have far outlived most of your kind.  So weary, so spread thin. The weight you carry, such a terrible burden. A horrible secret you keep to yourself.  But I have found the answer. I know your true name, Naurimôr. I know who you really are and why you hide from it.  The light of Ëarendil...was always yours!”

The dragon’s eyes shut tight.

“Enough,” said Smaug. “I have  _ heard _ enough.”

Thranduil eyed the dragon coldly: “Your dreams are destroying my Greenwood.  Perhaps that is why I have not paid you because you have done nothing that you said you would do.  But if you so wish to be paid, then, by all means, take what is yours. I shall no stop you. It calls to you, you know.”

“The gold of Erebor?” asked Smaug.

“Do you want it?”

“Perhaps.”

Thranduil then bowed before the dragon gracefully, his flowing, pale blond hair falling about his shoulders.  He smiled subtly looking upon the dragon.

“You do realize if they found out it was you who sent me,” Smaug began. “They would turn their ire upon you.”

“Did I order you to go there?” Thranduil asked, leaning back up. “I merely offered a bit of news to you as to why I have not been able to keep my word.  What you do with this news is not my concern.”

“Erebor,” said Smaug.

“The Lonely Mountain,” said Thranduil. “It is a troublesome mountain, though I would hate to see it...attacked by such a creature like yourself.”  He reached out to touch the cloak one more time. “A kingdom is a heavy burden, Naurimôr. It does also keep one’s mind occupied and perhaps that is where your mind needs to be.  Occupied with a kingdom rather than what dwells in Dol Guldur.”

Smaug’s eyes narrowed upon the elf and whiffs of smoke escaped his nostrils.

“What you do is your decision,” said Thranduil. “I am merely giving you that news.”

“Then, perhaps I shall come up with another reason,” said Smaug. The dragon’s lips curled with a sinister smile.

_ “Odo’ni Nauhírath vi rynd gonui în…”  _ he whispered.

“Seven for the Dwarf Lords in their halls of stone…” said Thranduil. “What are you saying?”

“I can feel it,” said Smaug. “That which feeds their hunger.  It is no wonder how Thrór came by such a place filled with the riches of the earth.  A dragon’s desire is not just for dragons. The Enemy was crafty in making sure those rings would corrupt the dwarves in another way.  Let their own greed consume them. King Thrór and his kin are of Dúrin’s line, eh? Dúrin’s ring. Perhaps I shall occupy my mind with that mountain after all.”

Black smoke puffed from his nostrils.

“What a pity that such a little thing would cause their downfall,” he said. “Let it be the thing that draws me to them.  It would at least keep you innocent of it all.”

Then the dragon growled and turned away, thundering out of the throne room.  He took this news and let it fester just as he made his way to the front gate.  

“Trahân,” called a voice.  “Wait!”

Smaug paused and spun around to find Tauriel behind him.  His hard, harsh face softened and he slowly hobbled towards her, reaching out with a claw.

“Tauriel,” he said. “Ah, my shadow has returned.  I have missed it.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To receive my payment,” he replied. “It is long over due.”  The dragon took hold of her arm and brought her closer to him. “Though I will admit, he has paid me partially for my services.”

“You think I am yours?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “I know that you are mine.  My shadow, connected to me. So long, so dark, so inviting. For you are truly are my shadow. _  Môr nín. _  Whether you deny it or not, you know it to be true as well.  And if I so willed, I will take you.”

“You flatter yourself.  Why would someone like you want someone like me?”

Smaug rumbled and traced her chin and then brought his snout close to her, nearly touching her lips.

“I take you because you are one of a kind,” Smaug replied with a deep, raspy whisper. “Only one Tauriel.  I have only one shadow. That is you.”

“And if I tell you that you cannot have me?”

“It would only make me desire you more,” Smaug said with a deep purr.  His tail lashed out and curled around her waist, pushing Tauriel closer.  She braced against his chest. The dragon tilted his head and sniffed her hair.  Tauriel started to shiver as Smaug combed his talon through her hair. Her breath trembled.

“You still tremble before me,” he said. “You still fear me.  Sooner or later, that will pass.”

“No,” she whispered as she rose up to speak into his pointed, bat-like ear.  She heard him rumble pleasantly as she groomed her fingers through his mane. “It is not fear.  It is something else. Your voice, the way my people’s language rolls off your tongue. It stirs something within me.”

Smaug’s eyes narrowed as he smiled and gave a deep, thrumming chuckle to this news.

“That is what I wanted to hear,” the dragon said as he folded his wings around her. “And I will return to quench that fire soon...after I deal with this...nasty business...”  

Smaug breathed slowly his tail wrapped around the elf, his wings blanketing her.  Then, he rumbled so deeply, it vibrate all the way down into her core. 

_ “Pe aníro ci an innas echadol mîl annin?  Innas idhrol ú-nad nan annin?” _

_ “Av-iston,”  _ she replied. 

_ “Mibo annin,”  _ he said and Tauriel swallowed, shocked by his soft command.  (Kiss me.)

“Do lóki even do that?” Tauriel asked as she pressed her hands upon his chest, attempting to push him away with all her strength.  The dragon still held her fast to him.

_ “Lóki ú-mibar nan agoren,” _ Smaug replied. “I learned from your kind.” 

She fidgeted in his grasp as the dragon combed his talons through her hair.

“If you so desire me,” she began. “Then perhaps I can at least plead to whatever good natured spirit you might have and not listen to the king’s little suggestions about Erebor.”

“Deliciously admirable of you,” said Smaug. “I may listen to your pleas.  However, I am a dragon, and a dragon must always have gold.”

“You have gold, just as much as in Erebor.”

“But I want more,” he said. “I haven’t had my fill just yet.  Unless you wish to take its place. Do not deny me this, Tauriel.  I would stay if you would at last have me. No gold in this world is worth even a strand of your hair.”

He reached for her, talons clasping at the small of her back.  Tauriel withdrew, pushing him from her with a stern shove.

She wagged her head, her moist eyes turning away.

“I belong here...to my king…”

Smaug sighed, his grip loosening.

“Then I must settle for the gold.”

He let her go to turn from her.  Tauriel reached out to his shoulder.

“I do not agree of making examples of innocents over a greedy king’s selfishness,” said Tauriel. “Either king.”

“You cannot stop me,” said Smaug. “I am not looking for your approval either.  I do what I wish and none will ever dare resist.”

“I might.  Just to spite you for doing such an act.”

“Then resist me,” said Smaug with a deep chuckle.  He pointed a sharp talon upon her. “But in the end, you cannot deny the fire that I have set inside of your soul,  _ môr nín. _  And you will do anything to ease it burn.”  

He gathered her into his wings, tilting her head gently back.

“You will come to desire me too.  Perhaps distance will help you realize it.”

“I doubt it,” said Tauriel.

Smaug rumbled:  _ “Môr nîn awarthol nin.” _

Then he pulled away and Tauriel was left, frozen from his gaze.  He left her standing, staring, her thoughts rolled upon the words he said.

_ My shadow abandons me. _


	5. Gift of Starlight

He burned straight through the land, rendering woods ash, the earth black as soot.  Smaug unleashed his flames, a torrent of pleasure and relieved to be able to do so. He heard the screams of the masses as they burned.  The arrows fired upon his hide and not a single one made its mark upon the iron-hard scales. Below, in the commerce city of Dale, roofs caught fire, women coward in the smoke, and children screamed.  He blasted the gates wide open. Then, the he felt something else rather large strike upon his chest, and knocking loose a scale. From below, he saw a single human behind a windlass, mounted siege crossbow.  Smaug was no stranger to those. They were few in number, but were made for one special purpose, to protect towns from dragon attacks. The dragon roared as he felt a pinch of the arrow that knocked loose the scale and returned fire upon the human who dared to make his hide imperfect.  

As the city itself was engulfed in flames, Smaug turned his attention to the gates of Erebor itself.  He landed and bellowed, blasting his fire upon the doors. They heated up, turning bright orange with his flames and the dragon was able to bend them open.  The dwarves inside were waiting for him and he burned every single one of them as they threw themselves upon his feet. The Great Fire Drake sent them fleeing and dove into the lower halls.  Once the deed was done, and whatever dwarf had managed to survive, Smaug started to pile all the treasures of Erebor down in the lower halls, creating a vast sea of gold and jewels. Few dwarves had survived the attack, few men as well and at last the dragon styled himself as the new King Under the Mountain.

After all, isn’t that how kings are created?

Smaug at last claimed his payment he was long overdue from Thranduil.  At last when the surviving dwarves were scattered to the wilderness, the dragon was able to settle once more.  Though even buried under his sea of gold could not chase away the heaviness, the whispers, and the growing darkness.  Just to deal out death and destruction distracted his mind away from the heaviness, but the moment he returned to a state of calm, it was back.  He could not stay asleep for long.

The dragon left many times over the duration of his stay in Erebor, being restless, trying to keep awake and keep the whispering away.  Over the course, his mane became grayer. Smaug visited the Woodland Realm as he could, mostly to visit Tauriel. One such day came twenty years after he took the mountain.  Smaug came charging in, bearing a gift.

The dragon lifted the sparkling, chainmail shirt up: “It’s mithril.”

“I see that,” said Tauriel. “Why do you have a mithril shirt?”

“I want to give it to you,  _ môr nín,”  _ Smaug replied.

“This came from the mountain, didn’t it?”

Smaug lowered the shirt, his eyes burning coldly at her: “Everything is  _ mine  _ to give if I so choose from that mountain, Tauriel.  This is mine, but I wish for you to wear it despite of that fact.  This shirt will protect you.”

He gently pressed it upon her chest and examined with a satisfied rumble.

“See?” Smaug asked. “It is as light as a feather, and as tough as dragon scales...like my scales.”

“I can’t have this,” said Tauriel, attempting to push the shirt away.

“You must be protected,” said Smaug. “And if I cannot be there to protect you in person, at least I will know something of mine shall protect you.”  

He pressed his lips against her forehead. 

“I want you to wear it.  It will please me. Do it to please me at least.”

Tauriel gave into his soft commands and held the shirt close to her.

_ “Hannon le,”  _ she said as she dipped her head.

“And now you can sparkle just like me,” he said as he stepped back from her.  Smaug opened his hefty cloak and straightened his back, showing off his large chest.  He shifted as he threw off the cloak, his form wavering like a ripple upon a pond until it grew out larger and larger, and up and up.  The dragon once more took on his true, impressive, and frightening size, dwarfing even the tall, ancient trees of the forest. There, Tauriel hushed to silence when she gazed upon the dragon’s chest covered in glistening white gems.  Diamonds, they were all diamonds. They descended down from the very peak of his neck, under his chin, where they were small and sparse, to his torso, and then down to the very tip of his tail. She recalled his underbelly was once a pale tan color, but now, it glistened like her mithril shirt.

“Marvelous,” she breathed. “How did you do this?”

“Time, planning, and much searching,” said Smaug. “I embedded the best of them into my hide.  Forever more shall I carry this with me. I have made my own mithril shirt...but not from mithril.”

Rainbow lights danced and played merrily upon the grass as Smaug moved his neck.  He rested upon the grass, cross his forepaws in front of him. Tauriel was bedazzled by Smaug’s chest and she reached out for it with wonderment.  Then she paused and looked up to the dragon who gave her a nod of approval. 

The elf laid her hands upon his chest.  The stones were set so tightly that they appeared like smooth glass to her touch.  Tauriel exhaled as she felt Smaug press his snout against her back. As she turned around, she could see herself captured within the limpid pools of amber that were Smaug’s eyes.  In the sun, they did not glow, but they did shine. His pupils were contracted into slender slits and pulsed just slightly as he focused upon her. His scales once more shined like a fiery, golden sunset in the light and that waistcoat of glimmering diamonds sparkled with white light.  He captured both the light of moon and sun onto his body. 

Tauriel walked around his great head and came to the shaggy tuffs of fur framing his cheeks.  She sank her hands into the tuffs and began to scratch just right at the bend between his head and neck.  She was rewarded with a long, deep, happy thrum from the Great Urulokë. Wisps of white smoke escaped his nostrils as he purred while she gave a good scratch behind his ear.  Though, her eyes focused with deep concern over the new streaks of silver shocking through the auburn, course mane of the dragon.

“King Thranduil told me something, Trahân,” she said. “Something I didn’t know about you.”

“What did he say?” Smaug asked.

“You helped...Annatar,” she said. “The one who betrayed Aulë.”

“Him,” said Smaug with a deep, deadly, angered growl. “Tauriel, I would command never to speak of that name, as I have asked your king.  Never speak of the name he gave me either.”

Tauriel snatched her hand from his fur and bowed her head, believing she had insulted the dragon for mentioning Sauron.

“I thought he had no power to control creatures like yourself,” she said.

“He doesn’t have power over me,” said the dragon. “But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t try.”  He snaked his head around and his eyes held her still in their heated gaze. “You must speak no more of it.  Not even just as an attempt to try and understand me. I don’t want to hear that name again.”

Tauriel stared upon the ground, her eyes not even lifting to look at the dragon again.  Smaug leaned his cheek closer to her and with a brush of it, lifted her head up. 

“I only want to forget those unhappy times, my dear,” the dragon said softly and slowly. “They were the few mistakes I have made.”

“But there are days when I see you,” said Tauriel. “You look weary, heavy, disturbed.  When you sleep, you murmur something, something horrible. Other days I’ve seen you, you do not wish to sleep.”

“Elves do not sleep,” said Smaug.

“No, but you need to,” she said. “Your eyes become swollen, weary as you stay awake, whispering, worrying.  And the luster you had, it fades at times.”

“I am troubled,” he replied. “I wonder if any of those dwarves might return, seeking to dethrone me.  I want to be alert, remain vigilant so I will not be caught off guard. They came here after they fled, didn’t they?”

“We shut them out all the same,” said Tauriel. “I think there are times when Thranduil fears you.  I remember he told me once about how haunted he was when he first saw you in the north.”

“He should fear me,” said Smaug. “As all should.”

“But I do not fear you,” said Tauriel. “Not now.”

Smaug rumbled a chuckle and pressed his cheek up against her.  He shifted his body, his wings folding in a rustling shake and he blanketed the ground with them as he leaned in closer.

“It was never your fear I desired,” he said.

“My friendship?”

“I told you what I wanted from you, Tauriel,” he said. “What I desired from you was for you to admire me, love me, adore me.”

“If I did, would you do the same for me?” she asked. “Or is this a one way gift?”

“I would hold you over all the gold in that mountain,” Smaug replied. “Treasure you more than any jewel.  For there is much of that in the world, but there is and will every be one Tauriel. To not cherish you would be folly and I would be less than a dragon if I didn’t.”

“I suppose that would suffice,” said Tauriel as she laid a hand upon his snout. “It was because of that fear, I believe why Thranduil turned the dwarves away.  King Thrór and his sons and grandson, Thrain and Thorin begged for food, hospitality, and supplies, but Thranduil would not give it. He said they deserved what they got.  Their greed called you to them.”

“Wherever there is gold, there will always be a dragon bound to take it,” said Smaug.

“So, they headed for the Misty Mountains,” said Tauriel. “We had not heard from them since.  Though, there was news of a battle in the mines of Moria. Orcs. Then, the news fell silent.  They’ve scattered to the corners of the world.”

“And if they choose to return,” said Smaug. “I will be ready for them.”

Then he backed away, straightening his neck.  Smaug spread his wings and bent his diamond belly to the sun.

“Come,” he bellowed. “Fire one at me!  Test my armor.”

“What?” Tauriel asked.

“Nock an arrow, warrior maiden of the Woodlands,” said the dragon. “Nock one and fire.”

“On you?” she asked. “I would pierce your heart.”

“You did,” he said. “So it should not be as painful as it was before.  But fire anyways. Make the mark.”

Tauriel took hold of her bow and pulled an arrow from its quiver.  Then she took aim. She heard long from the rolling barrels down the river in Esgaroth that Girion, Lord of Dale knocked a scale free from Smaug’s chest.  Her keen elven eyes would spy where he was missing it. She searched for it, but did not find it. Smaug’s eyes narrowed.

“I know what you seek,” he said with a sneer. “And you will not find it.  It is covered.”

She drew upon her bow and fired her arrow true.  The arrowed spiraled off of his chest with a  _ clink _ , flinging with a shrill whistle off into the edge of the forest.  

“See?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I see,” she said.

“Do not fear of what should not be,” said Smaug.  His eyes turned towards the south and he felt a cold shiver up his spine. “Fear what could be.”

Tauriel walked to his paw and laid her hand upon a knobby, rusty scale.  Smaug turned his head to her as he settled down upon the grass. 

“I would have you come with me,” he said. “I would have you join me…if only for a brief time.”

“Where?”

“In my mountain.”

With a deep thrum, he brushed his snout against her shoulder.  

* * *

 

Legolas crept into his father’s chambers as Thranduil scratched his chin as he thought the dragon and the elf he was drawn to.

“He is infatuated,” he said. “As I knew he would be.”

“How would you know this could happen between them?” Legolas asked.

“Are you jealous, my son?” Thranduil asked as he turned to the young elf with an inquisitive smile. “To see someone so fair and yet so fierce be enamored with a beast fashioned by Morgoth?”

“No,” said Legolas. “But it does feel...wrong to let this happen.”

“Unique things are often drawn to unique things,” said Thranduil. “He is unique on his own, and so is she.  But I would allow this to continue because he lays down his guard when she is near. She keeps his attention.  She can quench his fiery heart as well as his breath. My tithe to the Dragon King Under the Mountain is her. So long as I open my gates so that he may see her, I keep him from harming my kingdom.  She makes him forget about his troubles. I can never hope to control such a powerful creature, but when his heart is seized by either a pretty bauble or a pretty face, he can be easily swayed. Tauriel has him wrapped around her finger, she is the one who commands him whether he admits it or realizes it.”  He took in a deep breath. “Legolas, he is very... _ precious _ .”  His eyes narrowed. “Very precious.”

“Precious…” whispered Legolas as he looked away from his father. “I do not understand why he is precious. He is but a dragon.”

“No, he is not,” said Thranduil. “The legends were true about how Morgoth fashioned his greatest weapon.  Ancalagon the Black! You behold him even now, with the black soot washed from his scales.”

“He is…” Legolas’ eyes widened, his mind turning towards thoughts of Smaug and Tauriel. “But he was slain…”

“An adorable rumor, isn’t it?” Thranduil smirked. “The Enemy can sculpt, he can warp, he can twist, but never can  he create. He had taken one of the most precious beings in the world and forged that monster from it. Ëarendil merely freed him from that darkness.  Our most noble star that he could bring one so precious out of the shadow. Naurimôr, the light that stands defiant to the shadow. We all thought they were lost when they heard the discorded song of Morgoth. But some did not go so willingly as we thought.  Through ruin and torment, were they made into his finest weapons. Balrogs, werewolves, vampire bats, spiders, and dragons...but only the greatest of dragons. Glaurung, Ancalagon…”

“Naurimôr.”

“Now do you understand why he is precious,” Thranduil grinned. “Why I went to see him in the age past, I knew who and what he was.  And now...he is mine.”


	6. A Song of Juicy Fish

Over two centuries had passed since the dragon came to the mountain. 

As he was granted little rest, Smaug made the best of his waking hours.  A King Under the Mountain needed to be a King Under the Mountain, to keep away any potential usurpers of his now acquired throne.  Kings are created through conquest, but sealed through dealings and contacts.

The Mountain King set his golden eyes upon the tiny town sprawled out at the center of Long Lake.

Over the decades, he moved among the humans, descendants of Dale, calling himself the Old Man of the Mountain.  A his glamour concealed his true nature, his heavy cloak disguised his form. 

From the Men of Long Lake, he groomed the town into a hub, spreading from east to west.  All manner of folk came to live in the town, all beneath the shadow of his mountain.

All under his watchful eye.

He knew them all by name, every one of them.

He saw the last generation to see Dale in its splendor die, replaced by waning memory of their multitude of descendants.

Some were wary of the mountain and the dragon who lurked within, others grew accustomed to seeing periodic flights of the Mountain King.  

The first few circles around the small wooden island garnered what Smaug would expect from a town built by Men, screams of terror and guards arming their arrows to hopefully shoot him down.  The arrows barely tickled his underside.

The next few circles, the Men were hesitant, and alert, watchful of his flight.

No arrows though.

With each flight and circling over the town, the Men of Long Lake became pacified by their Mountain King’s flights.

He would not burn the town.  No! That town was his trading hub.  Riches from East and the West came through, up from the Sea of Rhûn, up from the River Running, and into  _ his  _ Lake Town.

So long as each Master of Long Lake paid the monthly taxation the gracious King Under the Mountain applied, the town would be spared.  And the people will live on without any fear of the dragon flying by.

Up to his hoard did much of the riches of Long Lake go.

He watched from his mountain the bustling town flourish.  What came of those who lived before the time of the dragon was nary memory as six generations of Lake Men came and went under his watchful gaze.

However, within the last 60 years, songs echoed up the River Running and to its berth within Erebor itself.  Songs of a future without the dragon.

Songs of dwarves returning.

Songs of the Line of Durin coming home.

There was a rustling in the wind, a voice crying out that the true King Under the Mountain will soon reclaim his home from the terrible dragon that stole it long ago.  Smaug knew of these voices, he was no stranger to them. His dreams were still disturbed by the nameless whisper and the weight of its baleful voice lingered upon his shoulders.  Smaug heard the other voice, the one who loved to rhyme, calling him  _ precious _ , and groping him sing out from the dark as well.

He tossed and turned, shifting under the mounds and mounds of gold.  Wings splashed the coins around. His tail thrashed against a stone pillar, breaking it at the base.  The pillar doubled over, cracking and with a long groan, fell upon Smaug’s back. The dragon awoke with a start gasping and clawing for breath, digging furiously out of the gold.  Never had he felt swallowed by any hoard he laid upon. The pillar pinned him down. Smaug leaned up and gripped the shank with his talons, pushing it from his back. Bless the gold for it took the brunt of the pillar’s weight, protecting his wings in the process.  The heavy slab of green stained rock rolled thunderously across the vast cavern, crashing upon a wall. 

Alone in his cavern, he let flow all of his doubt.  The dim chamber moaned ominously as the wind outside seeped through cracks along the walls.  He heard something rap-tap-tapping above and his head darted for the sound. Smaug’s breath quivered in his lungs, his heart fluttering.  

“What is that?” he asked with a hushed, startled whisper. “What is that noise?”

Another sound echoed, sloshing wetly.  Beat, beat, pounded against rock, slipping and sliding.  Smaug moved out from the gold, the coins and gems splashing down like a shower of light from his scales.  Leaning down, bracing himself upon his wings, he crept as silently as he could across the hoard. 

There was a voice ringing out, familiar and haunting to the dragon.  His ears twitched, his nostrils widened as he took in the scent.

Something smelled like fish.

His ears roved back and forth as he searched for the source of the sound.  At last, he came upon it, a dark, dreary cave with a black lake so deep, it threatened to swallow Smaug whole.  Nothing seemed right as he moved in closer to this place. It all seem separate from the carved chambers and hallowed halls of Erebor.  More natural, but then again, very unnatural. The thick, shaggy fur upon the dragon’s back stuck up as a chill of the wind brushed across it.  He saw faintly a vaguely humanoid form, gaunt, ravaged, ghoulish even to his eyes. It continued to sing it’s raspy song.

 

_ The cold hard lands _

_ They bites our hands, _

_ They gnaws our feet, _

_ The rocks and stones _

_ Are like old bones _

_ All bare of meat. _

_ But stream and pool _

_ Is wet and cool _

_ So nice for feet! _

 

Smaug leaned in to this strange creature that seemed to have called him from somewhere.  The creature paused, briefly peering over his shoulder and looking in the dragon’s direction.  Strangely enough, the small creature, whatever it was, took no notice of him. Smaug waved a claw, attempting to catch the thing’s attention, and it appeared not to flinch.  The creature dropped something from its hands and scampered across the slimy, black, rocky floor. It snatched something in its webbed hands. 

A cricket.

“That will not do, precious!” the creature said.

“Precious,” Smaug whispered.

“Cricketses will flavor this nicely, my love,” said the creature.

“But we don’t likes the tastes of cricketses, my precious.” the creature’s voice pitched higher as if to be starting a conversation with itself. “No.  Too sour, not sweet.”

“Perchance the goblinses may have better seasoning, my love.”

“Yessss, my precious.”

The creature dipped its thick, but boney fingers into a leather pouch strung on a rope around its thin waist.  It lifted something out of the pouch, something round, golden. Smaug’s eyes lit up. The moment the creature was about to put the ring on, Smaug felt something snatch him away from the scene itself.  

“Precious,” Smaug said, his voice becoming raspy. “Precious.” 

He gurgled as he did before, coughing and sputtering.

_ “Gollum!  Gollum!” _

That’s the horrible sound he made as he choked upon his own spittle.

Smaug closed his eyes, though it did little to drown out the singing.

 

_ Alive without breath _

_ As cold as death _

_ What a joy to meet! _

_ We only wish _

_ To catch a fish, _

_ So juicy-sweet! _

 

The scene returned once more as he closed his eyes.  Dark caverns under the lair of the Great Goblin. 

The lanky creature spied a goblin falling into its realm.  It flopped and splashed helplessly like a drowning fish in the dark, glassy water.  The creature bounded in the air with surprising agility. The goblin scrambled for the black, oily, rocky bank, only to be tackled by the creature before it could stand erect.

Smaug watched from the shadows as the creature began to swing its club and beat the goblin into silence.  The goblin’s limbs twitched once from the first whacking, then twice from a second, then still. Feet angled limply, eyes stared at the ceiling, but Smaug knew the eyes saw nothing.  Lower mandible hung open at the moment of the goblin’s last breath. Murky ichor flowed from the wound. The skull flatten on the right side with pieces of bone sticking out from the ashen, gaunt skin.

Smaug was no stranger to hunting, especially goblins.  This creature hunted goblins, no fault in it. It was the creature itself that gave Smaug his pause.  This creature and the voice he had, those came from his dreams.

Smaug shivered as he saw the bony hands reach out to touch the goblin’s carcass.  He imagined those fingers reaching out to touch him. Hands reaching up to gently caress his body.  Clammy cold hands, tracing his lines. Hair rose on his back as he wrapped himself in his wings, wanting so much to bring back the warmth that was stolen.  Never had he felt so disgusted by a single creature. This creature who groped him in his sleep, who invaded his dreams. This thing who sang to him the songs of fish, shadow, and murk.  Whispering to him, calling him... _ birthday present...precious… _

Smaug’s claw sliced out at the tiny creature.  Kill it now! But his talons merely sliced the air.  This tiny thing that could be easily rent by his talons, his teeth, burned by his fire, remained unharmed.

_ Thud! _

Smaug jumped at the clamour of something metallic hitting the black stone.

_ Clang! _

There it was again!

Something flashed gold in his left eye and he swerved to see it.  Eyes focusing on the flash of gold, ears perked by the sound of it hitting the ground again, heavier this time.

His breath still as he saw the object roll and then wobble and spin until it laid flat upon the ground.

Gold bright as day against the inky ebony stone.  His eyes could not leave it.

_ A ring!  A golden ring! _

He exhaled in a hiss.

He could feel its power.

_ Trakûl...nork-izish. _

_ “Garn!”  _ He bellowed at the ring.

_ Trakûl… _

“Enough.”

_ Nork-izish... _

Mane bristling at the whisper’s call.

He could,  he could take it.  Take it and it will make him whole again.  That is what he desired more than all the gold in the world.

He would the ransom of all of Erebor to be whole again.  

Take it.

_ Just take it! _

Fangs barred, lip twisted into a feral snarl.  Ears back.

He reached for it, two talons outstretched to clasp the golden ring in their tips.  Smaug inched ever so close, his breath shallow, his mouth dry. The very tips of his talons trembled the closer he became.

Just take it, that was all he had to do.  The simplicity of it all.

Two pale, pink, round fingers reached out from the shadows and snatched the ring up in a flash.

Smaug gasped, jerking his talons away.

“Hello, what is this?” began a new voice, curiously. “A ring?”

The vision tilted as Smaug toppled to his side.  His crash sent quakes through the rock. 

Though, not even a ripple of a pond could disturb the participants of the vision.

He laid upon his great flank, wings sprawled and bent in awkward positions.  Everything went horizontal, nothing could right itself. He could not move, pinned...bound to the floor he fell upon.  Watching the scene take place but could not alter it, could not affect. His teeth chattered in the cold.

The vision sped away and the face of whoever that was who took the ring, hidden behind gray fog.

Drawn away from the cavern, and the person who found the ring, or the creature who once had it, worshiped it, treasured it.

Though, there was one last faint whisper before Smaug was banished.

_ What do I have in my pocket? _

Whatever enchantment was over his mind, cleared out and returned him to the dwarven halls.  He laid his head against the wall, wearily breathing heavily. He felt his body became numb, his limbs draping over his form limply. 

_ Rat-tit-tat-tat… _

His mind snapped to the present as he blinked to clear his vision.

_ Rat-tit-tat-tat… _

He lifted his head painfully from the ground.  A cumbersome burden.

_ Rat-tit-tat-tat… _

He blinked again.

There was a noise outside!

_ Rat-tit-tat-tat… _

Smaug huffed and made for the front gate.  He pushed them open with a heave and a creak from the ancient hinges.  The gate gave way, the doors leaning. They were such in disrepair that a light breeze could blow them open, or knock them from their hinges.  

Outside was hotter than usual, for nearing so close to autumn.  The Desolation of Smaug, a vast plain of old ruins and scattered, burnt debris from the attack remained undisturbed.  Save for dry rot along wooden structures and moss growing in patches along the broken stone road leading towards Dale.

Wildflowers were still in bloom.  He smelled their sweet scent from the main gate.  The Desolation did not look like much of a desolation, save for the ruins of what was. 

The waterfall roared over the sharp cliff, creating the River Running from summer melt of Erebor’s icy peak.

As the dragon slowly emerged from the gate in full, something plopped down upon his snout.  Smaug shook it loose, allowing it to fall upon the moss-covered, rocky ground. It was a snail shell.  He heard another crack and a tweet and a flutter of tiny, feathery wings. The dragon craned his head up to find a brown-feathered bird cracking snail shells on the rocks above.  

A thrush.

Despite the sayings blaming Smaug for the disappearance of birds around Erebor, a few birds remained, carrying about their lives as they have done before his conquest of the mountain.  Finches, thrushes, tits, and even magpies still made their home around the mountain. However, the ravens, which always were looked upon as good omens, they had long disappeared.

A leaflet floated down from the thrush’s perch and Smaug caught it in his paw.  He curled his thick fingers around it and backed through the gate. Leaning upon a wall, he carefully opened his paw.  Upon the leaflet was writing, curly, ornamental, graceful. Elvish.

_ Tolo Taur-e-Ndaedelos.  Me darthad agin. Pen aníra covod.  _

_ Who would want to meet me? _ Smaug thought, looking at the note with much curiosity.  

_ Rhevio annûn.  Ir cenich neledh elin.  _

Smaug sighed as he dropped the note.  He shuffled outside, looking to the sky.  The sun was beginning to set, but it had not yet touched the rim of the small hills towards the west.  He waited, leaning against the great doors of Erebor, his eyes facing west to watch the sunset. A couple of hours passed and the sun finally started to set, setting the valley of the Desolation aflame in brilliant orange and red.  The purple band of night slowly folded across the blue dome of the sky. He slowly lifted his eyes to the sky, spying the first bright star. Another appeared as the sky darkened ever so slightly, some ways southeast. Finally, the last star shown itself to the dragon and Smaug roused from his spot against the gate.  He spread his great wings, taking off in a bound. He glided lazily just for a moment and took his first down beats. He swept high above the Long Lake, banking off for the west towards Mirkwood Forest. 

Smaug landed upon very tight, small space before the keep of the Woodland Realm, shifting his size, closing his wings around him.  The doors opened and so did the the dragon’s wings once he came to his proper adjustment in order to venture inside. The dragon was once more clothed in his rusty, layered robes and fox furs.  The guards let him through as the dragon dipped his head to them. The moment he was inside, he was greeted by a voice that made him smile.

_ “Gwannas lû and Trahân.”  _ (Welcome, Smaug.)

Smaug turned to see Tauriel swiftly rush to him.  She placed her hand upon his shoulder and the dragon unfolded a wing from under the cloak, wrapping her in it.

_ “Mê g’ovannen môr nín,”  _ said Smaug.  _ “Man tolant?  Man iallant annin?”  _ (Well met, my dear.  Who came to visit? Who wants to see me?)

_ “Cened agin,”  _ she replied, her voice holding a note of concern.  _ “Tolo.”  _ (You’ll see.  Come.)

Tauriel showed him into the twisted rooted chamber and shining golden light of the Wood Elf King’s throne room. Smaug paused upon the sight of a radiant elf maiden dressed in starlight and long, wavy, hair made of sunshine and moonlight.  He froze in his steps, his mind in a tussle over the maiden he saw. Though he had never seen the like of her before, he knew her by reputation.

“The Lady of the Galadhrim,” Smaug said with an airy breath.

Thranduil stood up from his throne and descended the stairs slowly.  

“Trahân,” he said. “I would like to introduce to you...Lady Galadriel.”

“I know who she is,” said Smaug.

Galadriel seemed to float across the floor as made her way towards the dragon.  She lifted her hand to him, Smaug spied a silvery ring crowned in white flowery stones upon her slender, pale finger.  He backed away as she lifted that hand to him, his eyes fastened upon the ring.

“You see it, do you not?” Galadriel asked. “Nenya.”

“I can see it,” the dragon replied with only a hushed whisper and a wisp of steam from his mouth.  _ “Corf neledh ‘nin Ellerain nui venel…” _

“Three Rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky,” said Thranduil. “You truly can see a Ring of Power, Trahân!”

“I suppose that makes me even more valuable to you,” said Smaug, sneering at the Woodland King. “Would you have me find the Master Ring?”

Thranduil shrank back, glaring upon the dragon beneath his heavy brow.

“Only a ring bearer can see this ring,” Galadriel said. “You recognize it?”

“I am no stranger to it,” said Smaug.

She slowly attempted to lay her hand upon the dragon’s cheek, but Smaug dipped down, his eyes still locked to her ring.  Tauriel stepped only a little forward, her eyes darting from Galadriel’s hand to Smaug. She could sense the distraught coming from Smaug as his ears began to flatten.  She wanted to stop Galadriel if she may harmed him. The silvery lady dipped her head, noting the strain in Tauriel’s green eyes.

“Do not be afraid, Naurimôr,” she said. “I will not harm you.”

The dragon snorted and straightened his neck: “You mistake my confusion for fear.”

Galadriel smiled softly upon him, dipping her head apologetically.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I did not mean to insult you.”  

She turned to Thranduil. 

“He is a ring bearer but he bears no ring.”

Thranduil’s eyes roved towards Tauriel and he frowned disapprovingly.

_ “Tauriel gwao hí!”  _ (Tauriel, leave now!)

_ “An...man?”   _ (But...why?)

“Do as you are told, Tauriel,” he said. “Go.”

Smaug turned to her and nodded reassuringly.

_ “Bado môr nín,”  _ he whispered.  _ “Dartha annin.” _

Tauriel felt along the layers of leather and fur, then parted with a frustrated huff.  At last when Thranduil heard the sound of the heavy doors slamming shut, he returned his eyes to the dragon.

“I...believe he bears a ring...in a different way,” said Thranduil. “More rather, a ring bears him...a piece of him.  A piece that will never return. A piece he who called himself Lord of Gifts took.”

Galadriel’s eyes focused intently upon Smaug.  The dragon’s ears twitched.

“Your heaviness...has it been growing these long years?” Galadriel asked.

“Not since the Second Age,” Smaug replied.

“Do you see his mane,” he said. “It was not this gray when I first saw him.”

“Why have you called me here?” asked Smaug. “What is the purpose of this meeting?”

Galadriel dipped her head as she brought forth an object bound in white cloth.  She lifted it up to the dragon and Smaug placed his talons upon the cloth bundle, carefully unfolding the pieces one by one.  His eyes widened, flashed with brilliant light upon discovering the lovely elven maiden holding a black dagger within the bundle.  Upon the hilt and running down the blade were words written in a strange elvish dialect. Only he and a few others knew of this language.

“Black Speech,” he said, snatching his claw back in utter disgust. “This is a blade forged in Minas Morgul.  Where did you get this?”

Smaug winced, his stomach twinged with a pained sickness.

“It was brought to my care by Mithrandir,” said Galadriel. “From Dol Guldur.”

“There are only nine beings who I know carry such a dagger,” said Smaug. “The Nazgûl.  Kings of Men...bearers of the Nine Rings.” 

His eyes fell upon Galadriel, darkening.  He gave off a somber note to his thrum. 

“Why have you showed me this?”

“Confirmation,” replied Galadriel. “He is called the Necromancer.” 

“He is a human sorcerer, but nothing more,” said Thranduil.  “Nothing for any of us to fear, I assure you, Naurimôr.”

“However, he has taken residence in Dol Guldur,” said Galadriel. “The winds speak that the Necromancer has summoned the Nine.”

“No human sorcerer has that power,” said Smaug.

“Who does?” Galadriel asked.

“You already know the answer to that question,” the dragon whispered.  His eyes narrowed upon Galadriel. “You know, don’t you? You know what he...asked me to do.”

“How much do you remember about the Second Age?” Galadriel asked.

“Fire, death, blackness,” he replied. “I do not remember what happened, but I do know the aftermath.  I was not sorry for what I did, but I was shocked that he could drive me to do it. That I would be his puppet, used in such a manner.  I would have lived my life happily during that time without being a part of that war. I wanted no part of it. But he made me a part of it.”  

Smaug took in a deep breath. 

“I have only a simple ‘thank you’ to Isildur for cutting the cursed thing from the Betrayer’s hand.  When it was cut from his finger, I felt the darkness that blinded me finally lift. I was myself once more.  But the Ring still exists. Sauron’s Ring still exists.”

“That cursed trinket has been lost,” said Thranduil.  “Flushed down the river Anduin...out to sea. Far from anyone’s reach.”

“Is it?” Smaug’s brow twitched.

There was a choke gurgling from the dragon’s throat as he attempted to correct Thranduil’s ignorance. He tasted a foul, dark thing upon his tongue, holding it in place, wretched, like tar and poison.  The dragon bowed his head. As he lifted his eyes, he focused upon Galadriel one more time.

“They are coming for me, are they not?” he asked.

“Who?” Galadriel asked.

“The Heir of Durin’s Folk,” he replied. “I have heard whispers on the wind.  Dwarves even in these last years, have attempted to take the mountain from me.  Failed of course.”

“You guard that treasure furiously.”

“I claim it as is my right to do so,” he replied. “Isn’t that how kings are made?  You stand upon the land and say it is yours because you say it and no other will challenge you.  Where is Thrór’s kin to say that I am not King Under the Mountain now? Where are they to challenge me?  Dead if they so dared. Dead, burned to ash and their spirits sent away for their failures. Who’s to say my rule should be any less than his?  I am no lesser being. I am King.”

His eyes narrowed as he thrusted an accusing taloned finger towards Thranduil.

“What is this are you trying to do, Thranduil?” the dragon asked. “Make me fear that Thrór’s heir will come and slay me?  I like to see him try! Let him come. Let him come. I will devour him as I have done so to his kin.”

“It is not the reason of Thror’s heir to the mountain that troubles us,” began Galadriel. “If this had happened in any other time, the White Council would not care what pile of gold you sat upon, Naurimôr.”

The dragon turned back to her, his ears straight, smoke appearing from his nostrils.

“But you are the one he called Trakûl,” said Galadriel. “This concerns us.”

Smaug leaned close to her, his snout barely an inch away.  Her face remained emotionless despite the noxious scent of sulfur upon his breath.

“Do not call me by that name,” he said, his words spilling out with a poisonous growl. “My  _ name _ is Smaug.”

“Whether you deny it or not, Naurimôr,” began Galadriel, preferring to use the name the Wood Elves gave him. “That name is a part of you.”

Smaug’s eyes glowed hotly upon her, but Galadriel met his gaze.  Silence was all that passed between them, their eyes remaining locked.  Thranduil looked between them, brow twitching. 

Galadriel held her breath, breaking the link between them.  Smaug faced his back to her, his nostrils still smoking as he clutched upon his secret thoughts.  Galadriel could see into any weak willed mind, but his mind remained safe from her prying eyes. His mind was far too strong for her to break in.

“They are coming,” Galadriel said. “They are coming for your mountain and your gold.   _ He  _ is coming for your mountain and your gold.  He will send his agents against you.”

Smaug returned his eyes to her, his brow raising.

“What you do with this news is up to you,” she continued. “But you are doing no good to answer the questions that seems to plague your mind while you sit upon the gold of Erebor.”

“So, you want me to give it up?  I will not give it up.”

“What is that mountain to you if not be filled to the brim of wealth?”

“It keeps me occupied,” said Smaug. “My mind away from queer things.”

“Does it truly?”

“Yes.  Now, I have told you what I know.  My gold waits for me and I will return to it with or without your dismissal.  I have a kingdom and a mountain to manage.”

As he turned, Galadriel’s song reached out for him, staying his feet.

“Return to your gold, then,” she said. “Hide away if you must.  But you cannot hide forever. What will you do when at last he comes knocking upon your door?”

Smaug sneered: “I’ll burn Thorin…”

“I did not speak of Thorin,” she said. “If he is destined to return to this world, you will become a prime target.”

He swung back, his eyes ablaze.

“What would you have me do?” Smaug asked. “Go down to Dol Guldur and scorch him out?  Join you? Fight for you rather than him? I wanted no part of his war then, but he forced me.  He forced me to attack. All because of a simple request, I became his. I am free of that curse now!  I am free of him! So I want no part of him.” 

He stepped closer, his wings rustling under the cloak.

“So long as the One Ring remains out of his hands, I am free!” he bellowed. “And I would have it no other way.”

Smaug breathed in and out, his head dipping with the growing weight upon his shoulders.

“Tell me, if you ever found it,” he began, his voice softening to a raspy whisper. “What would you do with it?  Would you take it as your own? Try to wield its power? You could not, you know. You could not wield it. Would you destroy it then, knowing that with its power lost, so goes the power of your ring as well.  Would you fade? Then, if you do destroy it, answer me this...what will happen to me? Would I fade? Would I become nothing? That is by greatest fear of all, being nothing. Losing all that I am. I pride that more than gold itself.  Would I be nothing?”

“I do not have that answer,” she said.

“There is nothing more to discuss,” he said.

He left the chamber, thundering towards the gate.  He wanted nothing more to do with the elves or what is or what was not this Necromancer.  Return to the Mountain, return to Erebor and sleep this madness off. That is what he wanted.

“Trahân!”

He paused and turned to find Tauriel standing right behind him.

“My shadow follows me,” he said.

“It is not my place to ask what you discussed before the king,” said Tauriel. “But I see you grow even more weary than before.”

“Musings of beings who have outlived their usefulness,” he said. “They seek to find some sort of entertainment, anything to spark the fire in their hearts again.  I make for Erebor.”

She folded her hands to her back and pressed her lips together.  A flush of red tinged her cheeks.

“What if I ask you to stay instead?” she asked. “To be my shadow for once.”

A smile spread across the dragon’s lips.  He hobbled towards her, raising a claw to her face.

“You have but to ask,” he said, thumbing a cheek gently. “I will stay.”

_ “Ieston dartha anin,”  _ she said.

“I will stay,” he said.

She led him to her quarters, which were his at times when he visited.  It was her way of keeping watch over him. 

The door closed and Smaug shed his cloak to collapse upon the floor.  He shook his shaggy mane, his great wings blanketing his form.

“On the bed,” said Tauriel, pulling the covers away. “You need to rest comfortably.”

He lifted his head, his pointed ears twitching against his long, knobby horns.  With a grunt, he lifted himself up from the floor and slowly laid upon the bed.

“Does this mean you will sleep beside me for once?” he asked, a hopeful glimmer shown in his eyes. “It will be as if I were sleeping on that mound of gold.”

“You see me as a goblet in your hoard,” she said.

“Come join me.  After all, a dragon should always sleep by its hoard.”

“You know elves do not sleep.”

“You do not need to sleep,” said Smaug. “But it does not mean you cannot.  Meditate then...so long as it is beside me. I care little else.”

He rolled to his back, resting a paw upon his diamond-encrusted chest.  In the firelight, they glistened like the stars in the night sky. Smaug’s eyes glowed dimly, taking note of her lingering gaze.

“What do you see when you stare upon my diamonds?” he asked.

“I see starlight,” she replied. “Starlight that is not distant, is not cold.  Is near me, so near I can touch it.”

“Would you touch it?” he challenged.

She leaned closer: “Would it remain contained? Or would it be proven false and shallow?

“Contained yes.” He leaned back, stilling. “But proof you must find yourself.”

Tauriel lifted a hand and hovered it over his chest but only for a moment.  The firelight casting rainbows through each facet, glinting upon her hand. She closed it in foolish hope that she could at last capture the light.  Her eyes tore away only to look upon each fiery golden scale. Golden light, like the warm glow of the torch.

She reached over, fingers gently dragging down the edges of the diamonds. He exhaled at the touch, but did not move, eyes following the trace of her fingers as they circled high upon the barrel of his chest.  

“Will you just circle there?” he asked. “Or will you feel them all?”

Tauriel lips curled to a crooked grin.  Her hand moved just below the cliff of his chest, and came to rest at the bend.  But no further. Smaug chuckled deeply.

“Oh, how you tease me,” he said. “And here I thought I was the prey.”

“You’ve always been the prey,” she said. “And I follow you…chase you…like the shadow I am.”

“Then it should be me who chases you.”

His eyes focused longingly upon her, her reflection captured upon their amber surface. The pulse of her heart seemed to skip at his words, her cheeks reddening just slightly.  

The slits of his pupils swelled.

“And how would you chase me?” Tauriel asked. “If I were the prey for once?”

“How did you chase me?” Smaug responded. “How does the huntress find this great dragon on each of his visits?”

Laughter sprung from her lips as he threw back her hair.  His whiskers twitched as her fiery mane flicked the scales of his thigh.

“It is not like you’ve made yourself difficult to find,” she said. “Not hard to see a giant creature like yourself thunder through the forest.  A storm is more subtle.”

His shaggy brow cocked.

“I never knew that I was so…easy…” he said.

“You are very easy.”

His forked tongue flickered and groomed his lips.  

“Nervous?” she asked.

“If only you knew…” he deeply purred.  “But as I promised, I am…restrained.”

Her hand curled and she swallowed.  The deep rumble from the dragon took hold of her depths and a small candle was lit.  She grazed her lower lip against a tooth.

“But this hunter needs a scent of his prey,” Smaug rumbled.  “Or else how would he find her?”

“Your nose is strong enough to catch wind from all the way there,” she said.

“But I know what my prey smells like with all the background scent,” he said. “I need to know her a lot better than just a distant whiff.”

Each roll of his thrum entranced her more.  His eyes enthralled her. He pulled upon her, not with his paws, not with his wings, but with his words.  With his eyes. She could not tear away from them. She drew closer. Tresses of her hair fell about her, draping upon his chest.  She rested a hand upon his neck and with an approving nod, allowed him to lift his head up. Smaug buried his snout into her hair and inhaled deeply.  

A paw raised to gather the long rivers of soft elven hair, tangling the talons in the locks.  He had her in his arms again, he had her. But she did not want him to get too involved yet. Just as he was about to press his snout against the nape of her neck, she pulled away from his grip.

“Ah!” she said. “That is a foul.  You didn’t restrain yourself.”

“I can’t help it.  Instinct. When a prey delivers herself so willingly into my talons, I have to take the advantage.”

She swallowed hard, the vibrations of his thrum only fed the growing fire within her.

He came closer to her and heavily exhaled.  Her scent smelled sweeter to him. The flicker of the torches reflecting in her eyes drew him closer to her.  

_ “I theilin in teiliedh enni môr nín,” _ he said. (The games you play with me, my shadow.)

“Why do you play these games?” she asked.

“It amuses me,” Smaug replied. “I should know every detail of my hoard.  Every precious pearl, gem, coin. But you, Tauriel. You are something completely different.  You can do something that gold cannot. You can give me something that I need rather than want.  But it is a deep desire nonetheless. And your own games of being the difficult prey only tempts further.  That fire I enkindled within you a century ago, I can feel it burning even hotter than before.”

Tauriel’s right brow twitched.  She smiled, resting her hands upon his chest again.  

“You want to quench that heat?” she asked. “Then, behave yourself.”

“Lie back and let you take the reins?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he said. “But perhaps you should be a little more comfortable.  Loosen some garments, perhaps.”

Tauriel raised her hands up to her hair and pulled loose one of the ribbons that bound her braids.  Then she pulled the other, feeling her fingers through the braids until her falls came tumbling to her shoulders.  She raised the forest green ribbons up and dropped them upon the dragon’s glistening chest. Smaug chuckled again.

“That is not what I meant,” he said.

“Be specific next time,” she said.

Smaug’s breath was steady, leaning back against the pillow.  

“What do you wish me to do?” he asked.

“Lay, as still as you can,” she replied.

Smaug took in a breath as Tauriel moved closer to his head.  She reached up to touch his mane, a thin finger combing through a silvery lock.  Fingers groomed the shaggy tufts, smoothing them out until they shined in the candle light.  Her leg kicked over his middle until she straddled him, leaning upon his glistening, great chest.

He exhaled swiftly.  He heaved in and out, his breath quickening.

“Stay calm,” she said.

She could sense a change in him, his thrum shifting its pitch higher.  The trembling of his throat quickened. His whiskered twitched. 

“How can I?” Smaug asked. “When you have me pinned?  Trapped.”

She pulled upon the string of her leather bodice.  She slowly slid it from one arm, and then to the other until what was left was the long green tunic she wore.  Smaug caught something glistening beneath the tunic, like silver starlight.

The mithril shirt.

“You’re wearing it,” he said.

“A little baggy in places, and barely goes below my hips,” she said.

“It keeps your middle safe, that is all I care for.”

He leaned his head forward, bringing his snout close to her collar bone.  Tauriel placed a hand upon his neck, haulting him before he could reach it.

“I told you to stay calm.”

“How can I?” he asked. “Especially when you sparkle just like my diamonds.”

“Lay down.”

“As my Shadow commands.”

She drew closer as he laid flat.  His horns scraped the wall behind him.  Closer she came until her nose nearly touched his snout.  She stared into his glistening eyes, seeing the glow in the shadow of his pupils.  

Her reflection captured in the amber of his irises.

She sensed the eyes pull her closer, falling into their lipid pools.

Wings slowly began to fold around her and she laid her head upon his chest.

She let go, feeling a knot at last untied as she met the embrace.  


	7. The Biter

_**  
**_

"Some might imagine it is a noble quest," began Thranduil as he slowly descended the spiral, circling stairs leading from his knotted, wooden throne. "To reclaim a kingdom and slay a dragon. I can respect such endeavor. But it seems you would do it more subtly, perhaps attempted burglary. Something of that measure."

He crossed the softly lit, wooden floor, turning his head gracefully to look upon Thorin Oakenshield. For a blink of a moment, his eyes turned to a hefty shadow lurking behind twisting branches and oak leaves.

Smaug waited, hidden in the foliage. He listened ever so carefully, but his eyes never left the ring with a dark stone on the dwarf's right hand.

"You seek that which will bestow upon you the right to rule. The Arkenstone. It is precious to you. I understand that. There was something promised to me. Something precious. Jewels that were bathed in starlight. White jewels."

He bowed his head to the graying dwarf.

"I offer you my help."

"I am listening," Thorin said in a deep, stiff gruff tone. His brow twitched, inclining to the Elf's words.

"If I let you go, will you return to me what is rightfully mine?"

"A favor for a favor," the dwarf said with a cocked eyebrow.

"You have my word. One king to another."

Thorin's lip curled in disgust as he rounded upon Thranduil's offer. His teeth were clenched tightly as his peppered locks fell into his eyes.

"I would not trust Thranduil, the good king who betrayed his word," he replied, pointing an accusing finger back at the wood elf king. "You who lack all honor! I see how you treat your friends. We _came_ to you once, starving, homeless. And you shut your gate to us! You turned away from the suffering of my people. While that wyrm murdered us! My people burned and you shut your gates!"

Thorin's neck tensed up.

" _Imrid amrad ursul!"_ he shouted.

Thranduil flushed, his brows furrowed. He slid down, meeting the Thorin eye to eye. His crystal blue eyes flashed with a burning fire.

"Do you think you know everything about dragon fire?" he asked. "I know its wrath."

As he spoke, the left side of his face seemed to fade. His left eye became white, as if it were blind, the skin pulling back to reveal burnt flesh and muscle, exposed teeth through thin lips.

"I have faced the great serpents of the north." As he withdrew, the glamor that covered the twisted, scarred side appeared once again. "I warned your grandfather what his greed would summon. But he would not listen. You are just like him. Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink of an eye to an elf. I am patient, I can wait."

He called for his guards and they led their prisoner back to his cage. Smaug came hobbling out the moment the door shut. He threw back his hood, tilting his head to the elf and then back to the door.

" _Te góriel ten?"_ Thranduil asked. " _Te góriel i corf?"_ (Did he have it? Did he have the ring?)

" _Ma,"_ Smaug replied. (Yes.)

"Shall I take it from him?" Thranduil asked. "Hand it over to you."

"What would I need with one of the Seven?" Smaug asked. "It is of no consequence. Not yet."

"How many are there left?" Thranduil asked.

"Four were destroyed by dragon fire," Smaug replied. "Two...are lost...or have been taken by darker powers. One remains. And he is wearing it."

"Then what shall we do?" the elven king asked as he floated around the cloaked dragon. "I can keep all of them here, you will not have to worry about them coming to your mountain. You can remain there for all eternity. There is nothing coming for Thorin or his companions."

"Mithrandir," said Smaug. "If it was Mithrandir who set Thorin upon his task to take my mountain, he will be coming to his rescue."

"It is not in Mithrandir's style to rush in…" Thranduil began. "So abrupt and unannounced."

The red-golden dragon chuckled, his rich baritone vibrated the wood beneath his feet.

"He would use other means to free his dwarven friends," he said.

Thranduil spun around, locking eyes with the dragon.

"Then what would you have me do?" he asked. "Let Oakenshield go?"

Smaug rumbled. He braced his weight upon his wings, standing as upright as he could and crossed his forelegs in front of his chest.

"I wonder," the dragon began. "Just how was Thorin hoping to enter my mountain? Through the main gate like a house guest?"

"Then perhaps this may answer your question," said Thranduil as he pulled out a folded piece of parchment from his silvery robe. "It is what my son found on him."

He then pulled out a black, iron key hanging from a leather thong. Smaug hooked his talon around the key and gently took the parchment into his paws. He held the key up, his golden eyes narrowing. Then, he unfolded the parchment. Written upon its surface was a map of the Lonely Mountain written in Westron Common. There were runes in Kuzdûl decorating the borders and a hand pointing at the mountain.

"Old Iron Dwarf," he whispered. Smaug leaned down to sniff the map. "Moon letters…written with a mithril pen and enchanted to only reflect moonlight or starlight."

"Certain _ithildin_ can only be read on certain times of the year or certain phases of the moon," said Thranduil. "The moon which helped to write those letters may not be in the sky tonight."

"What is tonight's moon?" he asked.

"Waning crescent," said Thranduil.

Smaug's brow cocked up: "Then we will test them."

He followed Thranduil out to a balcony overlooking high above the autumn canopy. Smaug placed the map upon a ledge and looked out over the silvery crescent.

"It may not be the right season," said Thranduil.

Smaug turned the map, his eyes spying a slight play of silver upon its surface. A normal mortal would not be able to see the lettering being the wrong time of year, but his keen eyes could make out their outline. He tilted the map even further and their silvery writing glistened.

"Stand by the grey stone," he read aloud. "When the thrush knocks...and the setting sun with the last light of Dúrin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

The dragon began to chuckle deeply.

" _Clever_ dwarf…"

"Even with my eyes, I could barely read it," said Thranduil.

"It was not written with a dragon's eyes in mind," the dragon said with a smirk.

"Indeed."

Smaug folded the map and stuffed it into his cloak. He held the key out, rolling it in his talons.

"A secret door to the lower halls," he said. "So that's how they plan to get in."

"Dúrin's Day is not far off, is it?" Thranduil asked.

"The last moon of autumn," said Smaug. "Nought but a fortnight away."

"Well, I can keep them here until that day passes," said Thranduil. "They will not get their chance then…"

"Oh, and they will have to wait a whole year before they can even find the keyhole," Smaug's eyes narrowed. "Another year, eh? Not enough."

"As I said, I can keep him here," said Thranduil. "I intend to...until he gives what is mine in that mountain."

"Ah, yes, those pretty gems Thrór promised you," said Smaug. "You know you don't have to burden yourself, Thranduil. I could easily fly over there and fetch them for you…"

Thranduil held up a hand and Smaug snatched it, bringing the elven king closer.

"It would be no trouble, _âr nîn,"_ Smaug said with a venomous grin. "Take me only a couple of hours. Better yet, I could take you to Erebor with me. I know where Thrór kept them and I had not moved them since his flight out. If only you would but ask…"

"If Thrór could not hold his word," said Thranduil, snatching his hand from the dragon's grasp. "Neither would his son...so lost in his misery since his father's passing...then Thorin…"

"Thorin!" Smaug bellowed. "You think that canty dwarf will give you what you want? I heard the conversation myself. I'm surprised he didn't say you should _îsh kakhfê ai-'d dûr-rugnu!"_

"Is that what you spent your time doing, Naurimôr?" Thranduil asked. "Learning dwarfish curses?"

"It helps if ever I see Thorin and he attempts to offer insult in a language I cannot understand," said Smaug. "The offer stands. I can get them to you. Isn't that why you suggested Erebor to me?"

"I did no such thing…"

"You blonde-haired, prancing fop," Smaug said in a rolling snarl. His lip twitched. "Don't pretend to feign innocence. How would Thorin handle it if I told him that you have been in league with the Scourge of Erebor this whole time? That the sacking and burning of his people was your idea all because Thrór backed out on his deal of sharing his wealth with you. I'll say, 'the pretty forest sprite put some glamour spell upon me...forced me to come to your mountain, Thorin. I wanted nothing of the pretty bobbles in that mountain of yours. Poor, simple-minded lizard that I am...just a pawn in Thranduil's game of chess.'"

Thranduil's fair face fractured with a curl of lip. He trembled just slightly.

" _Bodaon ci!"_ Thranduil snapped. " _I nôl gîn lost, lóki!"_

"'Tis not wise to insult a fire-breathing dragon," Smaug grinned, his talon coming close to the elven king's petite nose. "Especially when you live in a house made of twigs."

Thranduil fell to his knees, breathing heavily, his ivory white skin flushing bright pink. He leaned back, clapping both hands upon his face. Smaug chuckled. Carefully, he lowered to the king and took hold of his arm.

"My offer still stands," he said. "I can bring you those gems. And you can let Thorin rot in his cell. Just make sure to give me his ring before he rots."

"You said you did not need it."

"So I did," the dragon bobbed his head. "Changed my mind. Perhaps properly disposing it would be best. The other Dwarf Rings were consumed by dragon fire. The same fate shall be for Thrór's ring. And for this map and key as well...unless you think that is not wise."

"It is the principle of honor," said Thranduil. "I will not expect a monster like you to know what it means. Thorin will give me what I am owed, not you!"

"Then you shall wait your centuries as you said," said Smaug. "If there is anything in this world one can set a clock to...it is the faithful stubbornness of dwarves."

He tied the key to his wrist.

"I shall keep these until you change your mind…" he said. "And I can wait as long as you. Hopefully Dúrin's Day will not pass over all of us before we have our chance. Even then, it's only another year. I'll keep the map and key until the year passes, and when you come around, I shall return these to Thorin."

A slight pause and Smaug's grin broaden.

"Or perhaps it would be faster if you had something to bargain with," he said.

"And what could I have that would tempt Thorin?" Thranduil asked.

The dragon opened the cloak to reveal his chest. The starlight and the moon glittered and danced across the chest of diamonds. But a single jewel shone more brilliantly than all others, giving light to the darkness.

"The Heart of the Mountain…" Thranduil breathed, his eyes fastening upon the single jewel glowing brightly than any other upon the dragon's breast. "All this time...you had...embedded among the white jewels of your waistcoat."

"Choose wisely," said Smaug. "You may not get the chance again."

"I will have to...ponder this…" Thranduil said, his eyes narrowing in concern. "New offer…"

Smaug shortly bowed, a mock to elfish courtesy. He closed his cloak to where only the glistening starlight captured by the diamonds along his throat still shined. And then he replaced his hood.

" _Abarad, âr nîn."_

Then, he hobbled down the winding stairs leading from the balcony. He wandered silently through the wooded halls of twisted rooted archways and glistening stain glass and golden light. He could hear the songs of the elves as they began to prepare the Feast of Starlight. The dragon lifted his head up, his heart swept away by their joyous singing. Such beauty he had taken for granted while staying long centuries in this realm. Parted from it, to live on the cold and lonely peak of Erebor, he began to long for their song.

The dragon closed his eyes and sighed, letting the song take his spirit away for one peaceful moment. He had forgotten about the dwarves in their cages or Thorin Oakenshield, the mountain, the gold. Smaug felt for the first time in two centuries that he could truly be happy. He let himself slip as he walked down the corridor, preparing to venture once more away from the elves and returning his baleful mind back to the mountain. Then, something bumped into him.

Smaug's eyes snapped open and he looked down and saw a curious sight. He felt something grab hold of his heart, his mind, his very spirit, and tore him from the living world.

Smaug was thrown into a dismal place, a place he had not seen for such a long time. There, he saw a twisted mockery, dark and gloomy image of the halls of the Woodland Realm. Gnarled trees grew around him, leaves brown, barely clinging to the branches. A cold wind whipped about him, threatening to snuff out his great fire which burned hotly in his belly. The dragon shivered as if to feel this horrid cold for the first time in what seemed to be ages.

Smaug looked down, gripping the opening of his hood to keep his face in darkness, fearing of who it was which brought him there. There, barely coming up to his high ankle was a man with rather large, pointy, elfin ears and big, leathery, furry feet. He wore a simple red coat and vest now stained with mud from his travels. Tufts of dark curls framed his face. He smelled different also, a scent Smaug was very unfamiliar with. He never seen such a little fellow before. Smaller than a dwarf, but a little plump. The little man looked up, wide eyes in horror that Smaug could actually see him. A flash of gold on the little man's finger reflected into Smaug's eyes.

The dragon reached out to the little man's finger.

There, he heard a dark voice whispering to him, familiar to him. It sent a painful chill down his spine and his leathery wings rustled beneath the heavy cloak.

" _Trakûl, lat shof-izg."_ (I see you.)

Smaug gasped, swallowing, horrified by that voice which seeped out sickly from the ring in the little man's hand. For only a sharp moment, his vision was filled in darkness and all but a lidless eye, wrapped in flames stared back at him. Smaug choked upon the air in his own lungs, feeling it grow as foul as the eye whose gaze seared him.

Then, the vision was gone.

The little man swallowed and darted away from him. Smaug swung around, his claw reaching out.

"Wait! Wait! I will not harm you, wait!"

That was the one who picked it up!

Just as the little man disappeared, Smaug felt himself be torn from the Shadow by a great push. He slammed against Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, knocking the elf back.

"Trahân!" Legolas called. " _Ci ben-ind?"_ (Are you mad?)

Smaug's eyes were still wide as he threw back his hood and knelt awkwardly down to the elf.

" _Goheno nin, Legolas,"_ the dragon said as he reached out for him. Legolas leaned up upon the dragon's foreleg as Smaug slowly helped him to his feet. Smaug swung around, looking for the shadowy, little man he saw running down the hall.

" _Na man ci?"_ he asked. (Did you see it?)

" _Man ce man?"_ asked Legolas, looking around. (Did I see what?)

Smaug huffed, lowering his paw down to just below his own hips.

" _Nogath?"_ (A dwarf?)

"In their prisons where they belong," said Legolas.

"No, he was smaller," said Smaug. "Shorter than a dwarf. Without the hair...mostly. He had hairy feet and a strange smell of spiced mushrooms and minty weed. Um... _peri...peri..."_

" _Periannath?"_ Legolas asked. "Hobbits? Halflings?"

"What is a _hobbit_?" Smaug asked.

"Little people who live west of the Misty Mountains," replied Legolas. "Near what used to be the Kingdom of Arnor. Shirelings."

Smaug leaned against the wall, swallowing hard as the color in his scales slowly began to drain.

" _Man raeg?"_ Legolas asked. (What's wrong?)

" _Ú-nad,"_ Smaug replied. " _Man Tauriel?"_ (Nothing. Where's Tauriel?)

"Heading for my father's chambers," he replied. "She fought well, if you wish to know."

" _Ci vilui,"_ said Smaug. He pulled the hood once again over his head. (I'm happy to hear it.)

"We've gotten a new shipment of barrels of wine from Lake Town," said Legolas. "To celebrate."

"The tub-thumping lake-men and their fine wine," he said. "I should have my fill of their wine before I fly off back to my cozy home filled with _my_ gold. And await when those pesky dwarves come to reclaim it. Perhaps I'll get so drunk that I'll change my route, fly over that rat-infested little port and burn it all to the ground. Finally be rid of that eyesore once and for all! And after, I'll go chase the little ghostly Hobbit."

"From the sounds of it, you are already drowned in wine, Trahân," said Legolas, his normally expressionless eyes twitching with some small concern.

"No, but I wish to be," said Smaug. "While Oakenshield is here."

"Then return to your mountain where you won't have to see him," said Legolas. "And perhaps the better you don't. Better he doesn't see you either."

The dragon leaned down, snorting hot, stinky wind into the golden haired elf's face. He pointed a talon dangerously close to the elf's nose.

"Don't ever order around a 10,000-ton, fire spouting dragon," he began. "I could just step on you and that'll be the end of it."

Legolas stared back, unmoved by the dragon's threat. They stood there, eyeing each other, neither moving. Then, Smaug backed away.

"Blast it all, I could never unnerve you, Legolas," he said. Smaug only meant to humor him.

"It is only by chance that I have grown so used to that ugly warg face of yours, lokë," said Legolas. "Doggy lips."

"Pointy-eared, scrawny, girlish man," said Smaug, turning away.

" _Nan lû, Trahân,"_ said Legolas as he bowed to leave.

Smaug pushed a sleeve up to look upon the ruddy red scales and flecks of gold laced between them. Red-gold, that is how many described him when they fled his shadow in terror. Red-gold fire-drake. Then, his mind again was haunted by what he saw, the 'hobbit' as Legolas referred to him and his ring. He descended down to the lower cellars where the dwarves were kept in their cages. There, he found the ginger-haired silvan elf kneeling down to one of the cages, speaking to a dwarf. The dwarf, from what Smaug's own keen eyes could see, did not look much like a dwarf, more like a rather short man. He barely had a stubble, only appeared to be rather unshaven than possessing the long beards his kind were known for. He was raven haired. Perhaps in their long exile from the mountain, many dwarves began to take on Mannish qualities to fit in with their culture.

He stood there upon the balcony and called to her.

" _Tauriel, tolo hí."_ (Tauriel, I'm here.)

" _Trahân, telin,"_ she said. (I'm coming.)

Smaug could hear the whispering between them.

"Who is he?" the dwarf asked. He withdrew into the shadows of his cage, hearing this great voice call down from the heights.

"A friend," Tauriel replied.

"Your friend doesn't sound very elvish. He's got a bit of a loud voice."

"And even better ears, dwarf," Smaug said, holding his hood closed to keep his face concealed. "I am known by many names."

"Oh, and why do you hide your face then? Are you too ugly? Even for an elf?"

The dwarf pressed his face against the bars.

Smaug lowered. Golden eyes burned under the hood.

The young dwarf jerked back from the cloaked being's bestial rumble.

"Mindful of your manners," Smaug said. "Unless you wish to make your stay more uncomfortable. I could make sure you skip dinner tonight."

He lifted and turned to Tauriel.

" _Ci iuithed cîn na anden...na nogoth?"_ (Are you amused by that dwarf?)

" _Ú-thand,"_ she replied. " _Te vivui annin."_ (Not really. No more than most.)

" _Te nogoth ar eithro ú-bân."_ (He's a little odd for a dwarf.)

" _Mal ú-bân en sui cin."_ (Not as much as you.)

Smaug snorted, straightening his back, his eyes showing his impatience: " _Me ab-dollen."_

" _Ná."_

Tauriel turned back to the dwarf.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I must go. We'll talk later."

"Wait," said the dwarf. "What is your name?"

"Tauriel," she replied. "And...this is... _my_ shadow...Trahân."

"Shadow?"

"Wherever she goes, I am not far behind," said Smaug. "Sometimes though, she is my shadow."

Smaug took hold of her waist and pulled her closer to him, wrapping her protectively in his embrace.

He heard the dwarf begin to sniff as if he was taking a note about the disguised dragon's scent.

"Don't like the way I smell, dwarf?" Smaug asked.

"Never smelled anything so...foul…" the raven-haired, young dwarf said.

Smaug chuckled.

"Terribly sorry, but I do not feel the need to bathe for the pleasure of prisoners," he said, his eyes meeting Tauriel. " _Le velden?"_ (You like him?)

" _Û,"_ she replied wagging her head. " _Le eidiled?"_ (No. Are you jealous?)

Smaug grinned under the folds of his hood and Tauriel could see a single glowing, cat-like eye winking at her.

" _Le gortheb úan,"_ she said, rolling her eyes as the cloaked figure shrank off towards the door. (Wretched creature.)

"Perhaps, but you like me that way," he said. "Come on, I feel like wasting myself on tub-thumping Lake-Men wine. And you should join me. _Tolo. Mereth-en Gilith_ _darthad men._ " (Come. The Feast of Starlight awaits us.)

Tauriel took one last look upon the raven-haired dwarf and smiled sweetly. Then, she hurried off, following he who called to her.

"I really do despise it when you called the men of Esgaroth, 'tub-thumping' or 'tub-trading'," she said as she took hold of his cloak, slowing him down. "Why do you insult them so?"

"Perhaps I am sick of them," said Smaug. "Sick of walking out upon the Overlook, seeing the ruins of Dale, and then smelling all the dung in the air from Lake Town's lack of proper waste disposal. As if living on a lake isn't enough to provide a decent plumbing system. You'd think with all that water, it would cover it all up."

"And if having a dragon as a neighbor isn't enough to cause a gruesome stench?"

"Are you suggesting I smell?"

"Well, you do need a bath," she replied. "A nice shine to the diamonds. Something with lilac?"

"Well, it is not like there are baths on that mountain."

"You live inside an entire city built inside a mountain, Trahân," said Tauriel as she placed a hand upon his shoulder. "A city that has bathhouses. Even dwarves had some sense of cleanliness, if it was very little. And they certainly do not smell as bad as you."

"But you like my dragonish musk," said Smaug as he leaned down to her. "Because of all the grace of the Eldar that has gifted your people, you, dear Captain, lack all of it. You're rough and wild. And you certainly don't dance on air like most elves do. Maybe that's why I like you so much. You don't smell like an elf, _môr nín."_

"So, you say I'm boorish?" she asked. "Lacking of grace, you say?"

Smaug sighed as he lowered his head, wagging under the hood.

"Me and my big mouth, then," he said. "I didn't mean to insult. The fiery haired elf that made me desire her and not gold...such a temper has she if I ever dared tempt her wrath. Matches the hair upon her head."

"And your scales."

"Yes, my scales," said Smaug.

Tauriel reached up to push the hood away from his face. He held her hand with a claw and brought it close to kiss it with his lips. Then, she knocked the hood completely off his head. The dragon chuckled.

"You should never hide," said Tauriel.

"Oh, but you love the chase," said Smaug. "The only time where this dragon plays the prey to an elvish hunter."

She smiled, a little mischievousness coming into her green eyes and the elf maiden pulled apart one of the long, heavy layers of his cloak to peer upon his diamond waistcoat, the famous armor he carried upon his belly. The diamonds glistened in the shadow of the cloak like starlight in darkness. Smaug was covered in these lovely gems, from the bottom of his chin all the way to the tip of his forked tail. They twinkled with every breath the dragon took, the strong muscles in his belly flexing.

"I love looking at them," said Tauriel. "A dragon whose scales capture the golden light of dawn and the crimson fire of dusk, and upon his belly diamonds, stars that shine at midnight. I can remember when your underbelly was naught but the color of sand. It looks so much better with the diamonds."

Smaug covered his diamond encrusted belly as if he wanted to protect them rather than to even show it off. Though his real concern was always if someone would come along, slay him and then skin him for the diamonds themselves. The Arkenstone glinted brilliantly, more beautiful than the others.

"Is it dangerous to carry the Heart of the Mountain with you?" she asked. "Someone could recognize it."

"I am not worried," he said.

"If you wish. I could ask King Thranduil to replace it with another gem."

"Don't," he said. "With the Arkenstone in play, your king may be able to end this little squabble with the dwarves. He wants those sparkling gems, the white ones that hold starlight the dwarves denied him. I have tried to offer him the gems he wants. He refused. I could give them to him, anything in that mountain. For as long as I sit upon that hoard, it is mine to give."

"He refuses because of principle," said Tauriel.

Smaug sneered, rumbling in frustration. The dragon wagged his head.

"He refuses because he is an old fool!" he said with a hiss. His broad voice echoed through the halls. He gasped as if he saw again that small shadow which lurked through the halls and he snatched his hood back upon his head.

"You do not have to hide, here," said Tauriel. "The dwarf prisoners will not see you."

"There is a person, hiding in the shadows," said Smaug. "No one but me can see. Small and with hairy feet. A velvet red coat and brass buttons upon his vest! He...carries something that allows him to walk without being seen. Something... _precioussssss_..."

His eyes stared, their orbs blank and he wheezed, as if the breath was stolen from him.

"I feel heavy again," he said, gripping his throat. "Heavy and trapped. I haven't felt this way since the end of the Second Age, since _he_ was defeated. I can hear his whispers again. He...calls to me." The dragon leaned over against the walls, kneeling down to the floor. "He wants me to join him! I don't want to."

Tauriel lowered down upon his back, wrapping her arms as far as they could go.

"Tis nothing more than foolish whispers in the wind," she said. "Urulóki like yourself should have nothing to fear."

"There aren't any dragons like me in this world," said Smaug. "Not anymore. I'm not sad. Too few dragons in the world, a rarity we are becoming. Special, unique in our own right. But I do not fear anyone, Tauriel. However, he does trouble my mind from time to time. I can't help but to think about him. Over and over again. It is like he is always around me, wanting me, desiring me. He wants to take away that which is mine! My mind, my identity. It is mine alone to possess, it will not be his."

"That creature is gone," said Tauriel.

"Is he?" Smaug asked as he looked upon her. "Is he? I do not believe so."

Tauriel got to her feet and helped the dragon to his. He wobbled as he tried to steady himself upon his hind legs, limping pathetically.

"I don't see how you two-legged creatures can stand being on two legs," he said with a huff. "It is so unnatural."

"Only because our arms aren't long enough to allow us to walk on four," said Tauriel. "But you at times can walk on six."

Smaug chuckled.

"I must walk like an old man," he said. "Hobbling around."

"Do dragons live forever?" asked Tauriel. "Just like elves? Only growing bigger and bigger as they age?"

Smaug shrugged.

"Perhaps in another two Ages, you will be as big as your sire Ancalagon."

"And perhaps an elf mariner will slay me on that day, and I'll come crashing down upon a mountain range," he said. "And the mountains will crumble beneath my great weight, crashing to the plains."

"I will kill the mariner who dares slay you, _mellon nín,"_ she said with a smile.

"Better you slay him before he slays me," said Smaug.

Tauriel smiled and then looked away. She pulled upon a curl of her red hair, her face falling dark as she listened to the songs of the Feast of Starlight. Smaug reached out with a talon to brush it through her long tresses.

"Now, you seem troubled," he said.

"I suggested to the king that we should take an army out and go to Dol Guldur," she said. "Kill the spiders where they have been breeding from. He said that my only concern should be about killing the spiders who have invaded the wood. Don't worry about Dol Guldur."

She turned to him, her green eyes locking upon his golden ones.

"Am I not the general of his armies? Would I not know what is best to protect this kingdom?"

"You are a general," said Smaug. "But he's a king. His word comes before yours."

"I don't think it's right to let other lands suffer from whatever dark things that creep from that wretched hold," Tauriel said. "If I asked you to fly me to that place, and burn it until even its stones melted into scoria, would you do it, Trahân?"

Smaug withdrew from her, snatching his claw away. He growled from under the hood, whiffs of smoke seeping out from the edges.

"Don't…" he said. "Don't ask me to go there. I can't go there."

"Even that dark place makes you frightened," said Tauriel. "Just as it frightens King Thranduil. How could a creature like you be so afraid of it?"

"You are still young, my dear," he said. "You know nothing of the world beyond these walls. Nothing that I've seen. It is a horrible thing, terrible which lies in that hold."

He shrank down, lowering to the floor until he was just a huddled pile of leather and fur. A flash of his long, sinuous tail flickered from underneath and he curled it around his legs.

"Even when I look south, I can feel it drawing me there, and I fear if I did, I would lose myself. I know that if I stay away from it, no harm will come to the peace of this world. All will be well."

"But all's not well," said Tauriel. "Not when this foul air continues to travel from that dingy place, carrying the creatures that lurk under it into our home and the homes of others. Innocents will be harmed."

Smaug wagged his head: "That is not my business. My business is keeping a bunch of dwarves from reclaiming a mound of gold in a mountain that I stole from them."

"You are afraid."

Smaug's head lowered: "Don't be so foolish, elf. I don't fear anything. I'm not some hatchling cowering in the dark. I am not afraid of my own shadow." He turned to her, pulling the hood from his face, his eyes glowing in the shadow. "What were you talking about to that dwarf?"

"Starlight," said Tauriel. "How you used to take me up there, above the wood. We fly, me on your neck, and look up at the stars. He said it was a cold light."

"There is no warmth in starlight," said Smaug. "But, there is something else." He rumbled as he withdrew his claws into his sleeves. "You like him?"

"He doesn't seem like a dwarf," she replied. "Like I don't seem like an elf, nor you a dragon."

Smaug grinned.

"Then, all three of us are freaks of nature," he said. He cleared his throat. "If you like him, I won't mind. Perhaps I shall include him in my treasure trove of oddities, such as I have you." Smaug sighed as he looked up. "Besides, he is closer to what you are, than you are to me."

Tauriel pulled his hood and Smaug leaned close, pushing it back to feel around his chin.

"I will not trade you for another, _môr nín."_

She pressed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his thick waist. Smaug held her close. He extended his wings out from under the tattered layers of his heavy cloak and fur pelts and wrapped her in them like a leathery, warm blanket.

"I don't want you to fear anymore," said Tauriel, whispering softly. "Not of the darkness. Don't let it consume you as it seems to have in the wood. I feel that this darkness is spreading even inside here. Inside the king."

"Thranduil has always been…off," said Smaug. "Keeping things he does not know if he would slay them or want to display them as his royal jewels."

Tauriel smiled and took hold of his thick claw, leading him away.

He rested and drank that night for on the morrow, Smaug knew he had to make for the mountain again. He must prepare before Dúrin's Day come.

He stayed by her side for one more night, hoping that the dwarves would remain in their cages. Though the night brought horrible dreams, the enormous eye looking upon him, the whispers from the fell voice he had long forgotten by the beginning of the Third Age. It watched him so carefully and Smaug found no comfort in its vigil.

The voice continued to whisper, a beaconing sound that latched upon his soul and bid him to follow. He struggled against it, tossing and turning in his sleep as the dark hands closed in around him, threatening to snatch him away the moment they locked their grip.

As the sun rose, so did the Dragon of Erebor, cloaked and hunched over, limping like an old man through the halls. He seemed so out of place there. He kept his eyes out for the tiny man who walked in the Shadow. Though, he limped a little more than normal, the heaviness he felt when he ran into the strange little man was growing. He could sense that the little man was in the city, somewhere.

Tauriel followed him through the halls after checking upon the prisoners before the morning started.

"I wish you didn't have to leave so soon," she said. "I was enjoying your company for once."

"The sooner I leave, the better," said Smaug. "I'm getting too agitated with the scent of dwarf in this place."

"Better to return to a mountain that has that scent?"

"That smell has not lingered for a century."

"If you are so troubled, Trahân," said Tauriel. "Perhaps I should return with you to the mountain. I've never seen the oceans of gold."

"Mayhap you should," said the dragon. "But I couldn't bear to tear you from Thranduil. You are his favorite, after all."

"His favorite sword or arrow to knock," she said. "Nothing more."

"Then, you know how I feel," said Smaug. "I should be happy to be returning to that cold place. Out of the way of such trivialities. They are not my concern. If I bury myself in the gold, I could forget about this growing heaviness in my heart...and that little man and his ring."

"Are you sure you were not seeing things?" Tauriel asked.

"I don't even know now," he said. "Did I see him, didn't I?"

"This talk of you spotting that little man has gotten my guards all a fluster, Trahân," began a voice so smooth, yet commanding. Smaug turned to find Thranduil creeping slowly behind him. Tauriel paused and bowed slightly.

"I understand how worried you seem, Smaug," Thranduil said. "But I assure you, everything will be alright."

"It is not going to be alright," said Smaug. "It will never be alright. I feel heavier than I did last year, and heavier than the one before. Each passing year, I begin to feel heavier and heavier. As if the One has been…"

Thranduil rushed towards the dragon stretching up to meet eye to eye at him.

"Do not speak of that," he said. "The Darkness nor its lost trinket. You instill panic in my kingdom. And I would have you thrown out for it!"

"Do not treat me as if I were old and senile," said Smaug with a snap of his jaws.

Thranduil turned away with a smile upon his face.

"I allow you to visit my realm freely," he said. "It could be much worse. You may be very powerful, but remember, even a small mariner slew your sire... was as big as the mountains were tall! You are not invincible, Smaug."

Smaug huffed, looking away.

"Legolas told me you saw a hobbit. Invisible, a red coat? But you could see him. No one else can."

"I saw...something."

"And where is this hobbit?" Thranduil asked as he smoothly walked to pluck a piece of lint from the dragon's cloak.

Smaug wagged his head: "I don't...I don't know. He ran from me."

"Then perhaps all you've seen was a figment of your overactive mind."

"Do not play me for a fool!" Smaug roared. "I am no witless worm!"

"Have I called you such, Trahân?"

The dragon's eyes glowed as he began to fume, curling his lips across his teeth. He stepped forward, ready to snatch the elf up and break him in half, but Tauriel stopped the dragon with a soft touch of her hand to his back.

"Why would you dismiss this, _âr nín?"_ said Tauriel.

Thranduil reached up to pull the hood from Smaug's head.

"You should not worry yourself grey, Naurimôr."

Smaug bowed his head and shut his eyes.

"Bad for the stomach," Thranduil said. "Do not worry yourself of phantoms in the shadows."

Thranduil dipped his head as he passed between them, slowly floating across the floor.

"If there is some cloaked intruder, I will find it," said Tauriel.

"Please do," said the elven king. "Continue to entertain this notion of an intruder. Perhaps there was one unaccounted for."

His eyes lingered upon Smaug.

"Your gold misses you, hmmm? Perhaps you should return to it."

The dragon's frown drew long. He rushed away, the great cloak swirling the air all around him to knock loose a few reddening leaves.

"Trahân!" Tauriel called.

"Let him go," said Thranduil. "You have an intruder to find, do you not?"

She clicked her heels and bowed: " _Âr nín."_


	8. Barrels Down the River

He fumed down the hall, smoke rising from his nostrils as he hobbled towards the dungeon as fast as he could awkwardly walk. Already, his muscled legs not built for such strides nor to carry his weight upon two were beginning to buckle. Smaug growled and lowered to all fours, looking like a strange animal covered in heavy linen, burlap, and furs paced as fast as he could towards the door.

"Trahân!" called a voice. " _Mi van ha gwad?"_ (Where are you going?)

The dragon paused, his eyes all aflame. His lips curled against his fangs as he spied Legolas standing behind him. Smaug lowered his hood.

" _Ú-nad gîn Legolas,"_ Smaug replied. " _Ú-nad gîn toloion gwadeg! Theledin ú-cîn. Gwathog erui annin."_ (None of your business, Legolas. Not anyone's business what purpose I must follow, only my own!)

Legolas shifted to his left foot, shaking his head and crossing his arms.

"I cannot let you into the dungeon, Smaug," he said.

The dragon growled and slammed his claw against the wall, causing it to tremble.

"Now you wish to stand in my way as well?" Smaug asked. "Is everyone in this kingdom looking to become dragon chow? Just let me go down there, let me do what I wish to him, and that'll be the end of it. Then you all can go about your business with nary a trifle. Bury yourselves deeper into your halls. You are like those dwarves who dare think they can take my mountain away from me."

"You have not been yourself since those dwarves came here," said Legolas, taking hold of his foreleg.

"Just noticed, eh?" Smaug asked. "Well, I can't pull anything past you."

Then, the dragon paused, taking note of a strange blue glow from the elf's golden hair.

"What is that?" he asked as he rounded behind Legolas. " _Man sa?"_

" _Man si man?"_ asked Legolas.

"Hold still," said Smaug softly as he spied a strange pale glow coming from the scabbard of a long sword astride the elf's back. The dragon took hold of it and pulled it free from the scabbard. It was an elegantly curved blade with ancient Gondolin writing inscribed upon the silvery surface. The etchings glowed with a bright, pale frosty light.

" _Grogo caladen maur. Gosto naethen orch thaur."_ (Darkness, fear my light. Goblins, fear my bite.)

Smaug's eyes widened.

"Orcrist, the Biter!" he hissed. "Cleaver of Gondolin. Where did you get this sword?"

"The dwarf, Thorin, he stole it," said Legolas. "I do not know where. But I found it on him when we took his lot prisoner."

"Did he steal it?" asked Smaug.

"He said it was a gift," said Legolas. "A lie."

"Or a truth," said Smaug. "He's a prince. I would not think him to be so low as a thief." He turned the blade up to see its pulsating light, his eyes narrowing.

"Glowing blue. Forged in Gondolin of the First Age. The Biter glows blue when orcs or goblin men are near."

His eyes focused upon Legolas.

"There are orcs here!"

" _Dreganir!"_ Smaug's ears heard the guards down below shout. " _Dreganir!"_

"They've escaped?" the dragon whispered. He darted off towards the sounds of the shouting.

"Wait!" Legolas called. "Trahân, my sword!"

"I'm borrowing it," the dragon called, his voice growing more distant the further down he went. "I'll bring it back."

"Do you even know how to wield a sword, dragon?"

"No, but I'm sure it's like waving a stick."

" _Dollost amlug,"_ Legolas said, sighing in defeat.

Smaug passed the first raven-haired elven guard as he was searching through each cage.

" _Na man anur?"_ the dragon asked.

"In...in the wine cellar," the guard replied. "I don't know why they would want to go in there."

"Isn't that where you send back all the empty barrels to Esgaroth?" Smaug asked.

"Yes," the guard replied.

"There's a hint," he said as he raised the sword. "See this blade glowing? There are orcs in your halls. I suggest you go warn your Captain. She is with the king."

"Yes, sir. But what about the dwarves?"

"I'll handle the dwarves," said Smaug. "And whoever it was that helped them escape. The orcs are the bigger problem."

The raven-haired elven guard nodded and parted with a simple: " _Galu."_

"I don't need luck," replied Smaug as he pulled the hood back over his head. He hunched over, holding Orchrist in his right claw. He leaned and steadied himself with his wings under his cloak, walking slowly towards the wine cellar in the lower halls. There, amidst the bottles and empty barrels, he found the small man, the one with the red coat and vest. He was banging upon the wooden floor with his large foot, and he was not invisible. Smaug could see him very clearly.

"You seem to be trapped, little ghost who walks in Shadow," the dragon said, keeping his face veiled under the hood. He pointed the long sword at the man as he slowly stepped down. "You've sent your friends off down the river to Lake-Town, I gather?"

"Um," began the creature Legolas called a hobbit. "Um-ah..."

"I will not harm you, little sir," Smaug said as he crept closer towards the wooden lever that opened the trapdoor. "Your dwarf friends? You wish to join them? I can aid in that."

"Who...who are you?" the hobbit asked.

"Someone who wishes to see Thorin Oakenshield," Smaug replied with a thick, deep thrum. "But you are no dwarf. He's asked you to join him on his journey to reclaim his mountain and his gold from that villainous dragon Smaug, hmmm? You don't look like a dragon slayer, little one."

"I'm not, I'm...I'm a burglar," replied the hobbit. "Um..."

"A burglar?" Smaug said, a smile drew across his lips. "Well, Mr. Burglar, you shouldn't keep your dwarf friends waiting."

His claw slid upon the lever.

"Be careful, there are orcs about. They've seem to have caught up with you."

The hobbit noted the chilly glow of the sword the hooded, cloaked figure carried, his heart leapt into his throat. Its light brightened with a moment's passing.

"Thorin's sword," he said.

"He'll get it back in due time," said Smaug. "Wait one moment though…"

He leaned down to the hobbit and pulled out the key and map from within his cloak.

"Where did you get these?" Bilbo asked.

"From the guards," said Smaug. "You need it more than they."

His clawed paws drifted to the hobbit's pocket.

"Do not lose that ring, Mr. Burglar," he said.

"Who are you?" Bilbo asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"Go to Erebor," the dragon replied with a deep hiss. "That is where your journey is meant to take you. You will find your answers there."

Then, the dragon pulled upon the lever and the door slid open, dumping the poor hobbit into the chilly water.

" _Nan lû i agovaded vîn, pinig perian!"_ Smaug said as he bid the hobbit burglar farewell. Then he added softly to himself. "I shall not let Thranduil dismiss any of this. If I am right about that halfling, then the world itself may take a turn for the worst. Perhaps he has returned."

" _Trahân, man agoreg?"_ asked Tauriel as she and her guards swiftly descended the staircase into the cellar. " _Na man gwathar?"_ (Why did you help them? Where did they go?)

" _Menthannen andin i celon dad,"_ Smaug replied with a shrug and a shrewd smile. (I sent them down the river.)

Tauriel looked upon him with green eyes glazing in frustration. The dragon huffed and leaned against the wooden wall, satisfied with what he had done.

"How am I supposed to explain this to the king?" Tauriel asked.

" _Ben iesteg,"_ said Smaug. " _In ú-draston."_ (Not my problem, and I could care less.)

" _Pe-channas,"_ said Tauriel as she watched the dragon push his way back up the staircase.


	9. The Mountain King

**_The Mountain King_ **

 

“In time, all things come crawling out from the shadow,” said Thranduil as he circled slowly around the captured orc. “Such is the nature of evil things that festers and spreads.”  His eyes fell upon the hooded figure, Smaug the Golden, who stood in the shadow. “A shadow grows in the dark. A sleepless malice...nameless, without form...but it will spread far and wide to cover the land in its shadow.” 

“You were tracking a company of thirteen dwarves,” said Legolas as he held the orc and his dagger’s blade at the salow throat. “Why?”

The orc replied in his foul tongue and Thranduil cringed.  He turned his cold eyes to Smaug.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“Not thirteen,” Smaug replied, translating the Tongue of Mordor for the elven king. “Twelve.  The small, jet-black haired dwarf. He will suffer before the end.” He turned to Tauriel and sadly bowed his head. “He was struck by a poisoned bolt.”

The orc turned to the cloaked dragon and grinned a horrible, slimy, fanged grin.  Smaug’s eyes burned beneath the darkness of his hood.

“Make this dung heap answer the question,” said Tauriel as her stone face reddened with her rising anger.  Smaug, translated again.

_ “Ghashkrut-izg pushdug karanzol!”  _ the orc replied.

In a gust, Smaug burst through the shadows.  Nostrils flared as a dull glow ignited from deep within.

_ “Khl-latu kokû duguruk?”  _ he roared. _ “Flas-izishu!” _

“I wouldn’t insult our captain while our translator is around,” said Legolas as he pressed the dagger’s blade sharply against the orc’s throat. “Unless you like being inside the belly of a dragon.”

_ “Vadokû vosu?” _ Smaug said with a hiss as he drew closer to the prisoner, throwing back his hood and tearing off his robes and cloak.  He hefted upon all fours, his great wings began to spread. Black smoke rising from his jaws the longer his eyes lingered upon the orc.

_ “Trahân, daro,”  _ said Thranduil.

_ “Thrak-izg latu!” _ Smaug bellowed, scraping his claws across the wooden floor, curling the flecks into long gashes.

“I can fight my own battles, Trahân,” said Tauriel, drawing her sword to spring upon the orc. 

_ “Tauriel, farn,”  _ said Thranduil.  _ “Ego! Gwao hí.” _

Tauriel sneered, her eyes darkened as she looked with disgust upon the orc.  She sheathed her sword and with a hot huff, left. She gazed one last time upon Smaug and shook her head.  He lifted a paw, ready to follow her, until Thranduil’s smooth hand laying upon the shoulders of his wings stopped him.  Tauriel only nodded softly, sending a silent message to him, understanding why he had to remain behind. Heavy in heart, she left, here eyes distant, thinking about the dwarf in the dungeon who only spoke words of kindness to her.

The orc’s eyes roved up and down Smaug’s form, though shrunken it appeared, there was still no mistake.

_ “Kulkodar-u Erebor,”  _ he said, his tone only speaking of his interests in the dragon.  _ “Trakûl.” _

“No one since the defeat of the Dark Lord has called me by that name,” said Smaug, only contempt flushing through his words. “And it shall remain that way.” 

_ “Trahân, û-thî,”  _ said Thranduil, waving for the dragon to step back.

Smaug growled lower, smoke rising from his nostrils.  He pointed his crude talon right at the king.

_ “Ú-carel conui nin, Thranduil!”  _ The dragon said in a low, threateningly growl. (Don’t you command me, Thranduil.)

Thranduil merely waved dismissively to the dragon, his eyes still remaining upon the orc with careful scrutiny.

“I do not care about a dead dwarf,” said Thranduil, Smaug translating his words. “Why were you hunting them?”

“What does Thorin Oakenshield have to do with orcs?” asked Legolas.

After the orc replied, Smaug translated.

“The dwarf runt will never be king.”

“King, there is only one King Under the Mountain,” said Legolas and his eyes returned to Smaug. “And he is standing right here, translating your disgusting speech!  No one would dare go into that mountain while he is there.”

“But I am not there, I am here,” said Smaug. “And Thorin has a day’s pace ahead of me.”

“You know full well you can fly to the peak of that mountain faster than he can travel,” said Thranduil. “He will not get there before you.  And I certainly need you to repay me for aiding in their escape!”

“I have my own reasons, Thranduil,” said Smaug. “Mine.  What I do or how I do it it is none of your business.”

Thranduil, though he never showed it, was slowly becoming impatient with the dragon.

“Answer the question, who sent you?” Legolas asked.

“Tell us what you know, and we will set you free.”

When the orc had replied with a deep laugh, Smaug’s color drained.  He felt weak in the legs and he braced his weight upon the palms of his wings.  The dragon looked away as the orc continued to grin his slimy grin.

_ “Durbgu Zigur lat bugdat,”  _ said the orc. _ “Trakûl. Thrak-ta Trakûl-tab!  Thrak-ta kulkodar-tab.” _

_ “Skai nar, snaga-u snork,”  _ Smaug said, snapping his head back to the orc. _ “Hoshat!”  _ (Die in a fire, wretched slave.  Silence!)

_ “Dig-izgu a zarjar-ob kulkodor!”  _ the orc said in a triumphant and gleeful shout. (Destruction comes in dragon fire!)

“What did he say?” Thranduil asked.

“He says the world will burn in fire,” replied Smaug, his mouth aching dry.

_ “Ash Burz-Dûrbagu bûrzum-ishi.  Daghbûrz-ishi makha gulshu darulu.” _

_ “Skai nar, hoshat!”  _ the dragon bellowed again.

Thranduil’s eyes widened, his stone, cool demeanor broken by what Smaug had translated.  For the first time in many centuries, the king of the Woodland Realm felt fear.

The orc continued to spit forth his abhorrent speech.  Smaug only gripped the floor tighter with his claws, his eyebrows furrowing as he gazed heatedly from underneath their thick hairs.

“He says darkness will prevail,” he continued. “The flames of war are upon you.”

The orc cackled again.  Thranduil took his sword and sliced the creature’s head clean off.  Legolas let the body drop and the head roll.

“I thought you said you were going to set him free, father!” the younger elf said.

“I did,” Thranduil said with a touch of satisfaction. “I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.”  

He kicked the head off the edge, hearing it tumbled into the dark pit.

“There was more he could tell us,” said Legolas.

“There is nothing more than I needed to hear,” said Thranduil.  He looked to Smaug. “I think we both know what is coming. I suggest you return to your home, O King Under the Mountain.  I want watchers at all posts, gates barred. No one leaves this kingdom unless I hear of it.”

“So, you would just hide in your halls?” Smaug asked.

Thranduil swiftly turned, his shimmery, silvery golden hair falling upon his shoulders.

“I am only concerned by the safety of my kingdom,” he replied. “What happens in the outside world is none of my business.”

He swiftly descended the stairs, leaving Legolas with a headless orc corpse and a dragon whose reddish hue continued to seep from him.  Smaug looked rightly sick. The elven prince approached him.

“Perhaps Tauriel is right,” said Smaug in a lowly, thoughtful whisper.  His brows rose as he heard Legolas clearing his voice, catching the dragon’s attention.  

“What did he mean the world will burn in fire, Trahân?” 

“I miss translated,” said Smaug. “I suppose I’ve been in that mountain for far too long and not close enough to Mordor to hear my...blasted mother tongue.  He said ‘ _ zarjar-ob kulkodor _ .’  It means dragon fire.” 

His orange-golden eyes became moist. 

“He meant my fire.”  

He broke away from Legolas, heading for the door as well. 

“Your father is right.  I have spent too long here.  I must return to Erebor.”

“Why?” asked Legolas. “Because of Thorin?”

The dragon paused: “No.  I have to prepare. I have to defend it, not from a bunch of pesky dwarves and their hired burglar, but from a far greater, more dangerous host.  If Thranduil is unwilling to do anything, then, perhaps I’m the only one left that will. I know what he wants.”

Smaug’s tail curled up, the prehensile forked tip grabbed the scabbard Legolas still had upon his back and tore it from its straps.  The dragon’s tail acted like a fifth hand as he leaned up to take Orcrist from the folds of his rusty colored robes. The dragon sheathed the sword and swung its belt around his neck.

“You said you were going to give that back to me,” said Legolas.

“So I did,” said Smaug. “But I need it.  I’ll need it to tell me when the orcs finally arrive.  And I know that they will be heading up the mountain. Even with my keen eyes, if the Necromancer is commanding these orcs, he would surely hide them from me.”

He took hold of his cloak and robes, swiftly donning them and made for the gate.  Legolas followed swiftly behind him.

_ “Holo in ennyn!”  _ Legolas called.  _ “Tiro i defnin hain na ganed en-Âran!”  _ (Close the gates! Watch that they are closed by the call of the King.)

_ “Man os Tauriel?”  _ began the guard. (What of Tauriel?)

_ “Man os sen?”  _ Smaug asked, swinging his head around to him, his heart leapt into his throat with worry. (What about her?)

_ “Edevín eb enedhor na gû a megil,”  _ he replied, turning to the dragon.  _ “En ú-nandollen.”  _ (She went out before midday with her bow and blade.  She has not returned.)

_ “Man i theled?” _ he asked, his eyes looking lost upon the forest edge.

Smaug stared at the opened gate, his lips curling up.  He started off, ready to rush through the gate. Find her, by any means necessary.  He would not lose his Shadow now. Then, he felt Legolas squeeze his shoulder and he paused, tensed.

_ “Radathon trî sen,” _ he said.  _ “Veran ‘waen se.  Ú-aphado nin.”  _ (I will track her down.  Do not follow.)

“But...I,” began Smaug with a protest. “I...”

“You need to return to Erebor,  _ mellon nîn. _ ”

Smaug’s shoulders slumped heavily and he rumbled with disagreement.

“She will be safe,” said Legolas. “I’ll see to that.   _ Gwao hi.” _

The dragon bobbed his head reluctantly, making way for the door.  As he came out into the sun, he looked up. Mirkwood Forest was thick, dark, and what little light shined upon the floor, came from a hole in the canopy.  He stood out there, letting the light of the late morning sun shine upon him. In sunlight, his scales turned a brassy gold with only hues of red beneath the surface.  

Smaug the Golden, as many knew him.  Not for the famous hoard he stole, but for what his scales looked like in the light.  He dipped his head to Legolas.

“You do value here more than gold, Trahân,” said Legolas.

“I can always get more gold,” said Smaug. “But not another Tauriel, Legolas.”

_ “Suil vain.” _

_ “Farad vaer.” _

He brought himself a good distance away from the elven prince and then returned to this true and then vanished into the shadow of the forest.  Legolas cast his gaze skyward, hearing the sounds of two enormous wings beat as the trees bent and cracked beneath the powerful winds. Smaug was nearly half the size of his father, Ancalagon and almost as powerful.  He was considered to be the largest dragon of the Third Age and he wore that statement with pride. His wings were overly massive, twice the length of his body––unusually for a dragon. From his neck dangled Orcrist, the sword of elf magic had changed size along with the one who carried it.  Now, the sword looked like it should be wielded by a titanic giant rather than an elf or human, or even a dwarf. His wings carried him over Mirkwood Forest, but he did not dare follow the river out. The dwarves could very well see him if he did upon their travels down towards Long Lake.

High above, the dragon could see the extent of the corruption caused by the Great Spiders, their webs blanketing the tops of trees like white silk, choking the light from the leaves and only further adding to the gloomy darkness below.  The darkness was indeed spreading far and fast and its trail led all the way south to Dol Guldur. There, the voice that troubled his nightmares was the loudest.

High above, the dragon could see the extent of the corruption caused by the Great Spiders, their webs blanketing the tops of trees like white silk, choking the light from the leaves and only further adding to the gloomy darkness below.  The darkness was indeed spreading far and fast and its trail led all the way south to Dol Guldur. There, the voice that troubled his nightmares was the loudest.

“Stay away from the south,” Smaug would say to himself as he flew back to Erebor. “Stay away and your mind will still remain free.”

His wings carried him far over the edge of Mirkwood and to the barren desolate land that surrounded the Lonely Mountain, the single solitary peak in the middle.  Already, snow had begun to cap the mountain, a sign that winter was nearing. Beyond was River Running, birthed from the halls of Erebor and flowing into the lake.  Fog chillingly clung to the lake and concealed Esgaroth, the once bustling trading hub of the North. The fog hid his flight from the Men of Long Lake. Early morning or late evening, that was the time Smaug could safely fly over the lake without being seen.  

However, he wanted to fly over the lake.  Once a month, he would fly down towards Esgaroth while it was concealed by the morning fog.  This month, he was late. Smaug banked off and his flight path took him south over the long suspension bridge that connected the trading town to the shore.  Then, he dove quite quietly down into the mists. 

The bridge wiggled and the guards along the bridge paused.  They took hold of their long halberds and pointed them towards the gate of the bridge.  Heavy feet thundered through the wood. They held their breaths. They felt a warm breeze and they saw a dark shape wobble up to them.  Out from the mists was a large, hulking, cloaked figure, limping awkwardly, covered in fox furs, leather many linen and burlap layers. Thick hands bound in linen wrappings came out from under the folds, tipped with long, bony looking talons.  The figure hobbled over and held out a golden coin of dwarfish make.

“I believe this shall pay my toll,” the hooded figure said in a deep, raspy voice.

The guards pulled their pikes back and one stepped forward to take the coin from the hulking figure’s hand.

“Yes, sir,” he said, allowing the figure to pass. “Welcome back to Lake Town, Old Man.”

Smaug turned from under his hood, his glowing eyes flashed in the shadow.  Then, his other paw produced another gold coin and he handed it to the guard.

“For your trouble, brave guardsman,” he said as he placed it into the guard’s hand. “And your children.”

Then he hobbled down the bridge.  He paused to hear a horn sound as the guards signaled to open the gate to Lake Town for him.  Smaug was known by many names in Esgaroth, those mostly pertaining to himself as the Scourge of Erebor, the Dragon, the Beast, but one he had earned the moment he visited Lake Town wearing his cloak.  He was known as the Old Man of the Woods, or the Old Man of the Mountain. The Old Man was a wanderer of sorts, spreading news in the town of what the dragon was doing to the locals so that they were forever be reminded about who watched over them.  He could see through the tops of the mists the black shadow of Erebor, but that was not enough to remind the people of Long Lake about the ever presence of the dragon. Smaug wanted to make sure that he would not fall so faintly into legends and myths.  So, he created the disguise of the Old Man. 

Lake Town, despite the presence of the dragon, was still a bustling trading post.  Smaug made good use of that, making sure it remained as such. A dragon could do well with just sitting upon hoarded treasure in a mountain, as must dragons enjoyed.  But no dragon was as intelligent as Smaug. He knew very well of the world. He traveled it, learned from it, and he learned that if a town died, no trade would come to it.  No trade meant no more valuable items coming to him as a tithe of protection. 

So, Smaug, upon his fortieth year as King Under the Mountain, after Dale finally was nothing more than ruins and its people left, he began to set about a harsh tax law upon the town on the lake.  Esgaroth was his by proximity of his rulership. He wanted Lake Town to remain a fruitful trade post, though his presence made that somewhat diminished since the days of old. Living under the mountain of a dragon did not make for good business to the traders from afar.  There was always fear that the dragon would come down and raid the town for sport. But Smaug knew better. He did not do that. But he did often come down from the mountain and visit the town.

Only a select few knew of the Old Man’s true identity and that select few made sure the guards did not pester him when he came to visit.  Once a month, Smaug descended the mountain and hobbled through the markets to find what the traders had brought in from the exotic lands beyond.  Lake Town was a mixed town of various people, not just descendants from Dale, there were some from the lands of Arnor and Gondor, Rohan, and at least one or two Woodland Elves who visited periodically.  Then there were an odd flavor of Easterlings and Haradrim from beyond the sea of Rûn and Southron. Most of their peoples were ruled harshly by the Black Númenorians in the east and the Necromancer who Smaug held a personal hatred for, and so a few of these to escape such tyrannical ruling came here through the trade routes.  They had darker skin and black hair and black eyes, an oddity among the Men of Westron. Haradrim skin were very dark, almost black with tightly curled, coarse hair and black eyes and thick noses and full lips. And the Easterlings held a slight pale yellowish complexion than the Haradrim, though still not like the cream colored skin of the Men of Westron and long, black, flowing hair, almond shaped, black eyes and rather small noses and thinner lips.  

Smaug’s first trip down as the Old Man in speaking with some of the Haradrim who made their homes in Lake Town, he wanted to hear the news they brought.

“What news from the Great Harad Plains?” he would ask any new Haradrim trader who came up from the far south.

“It is a desert now, Old One,” they would then reply to him. 

“And what news from your Black Jungles?” Smaug then asked.

“By far harsher life,” they would then reply. “The fruits are poisonous and the meat rancid in the dank.”

“Then how do thee fair when such lands are thirsty and the brush naught but dust?” the dragon asked. “Or thy lands be heavy and wet, but too deadly for thee to tilled, how do thee fair?”

“By making a regrettable pact with one of Darkness and Shadow.  Now the Great Eye watches over our people. He provides food, water, but at what cost?”

Such news satisfied Smaug even more, though worried him constantly.  The dark pact these Haradrim traders would often speak of with such spite were what their lords were doing in order to buy water from fresher lands.  So, they had no choice but to side with a darker presence. 

Smaug understood that better than most for he had made a similar mistake once.  These Haradrim wanted nothing more now than to be counted among the Free Peoples, so they fled, following their routes north and it led them here to Lake Town.  

The town had become quite colorful since.  Once Smaug had his fill from the news of Southron, he turned his attention to the Easterlings who brought in their fine silk and spun draperies of gold, rich tobacco, and fine wine.    It was this wine that the Wood Elves had become to favor above all else, the Lake Men barges carrying them from the Easterling traders and down the Running River to the Green Wood.

“What news do you bring from across the Sea of Rhûn?” he asked an Easterling trader.

“Boring news, Old One,” the trader replied. “Not much stirs there.”

“Bid thee to cross through the Black Gate, or fair through the Land of Shadow?” Smaug asked. “Through safety into that poisoned land?”

“We were lucky not to, sir.”

“And the Land of Shadow?  How does it fair?”

The trader took in a breath, his shoulders seemed to shake just slightly when the dragon would ask about Mordor.

“Quiet,” he replied. “Deathly so.”

“And Oridruin?  Has it spewed fire and ash as it has done in Ages past?”

“Not since the time when the Dark Lord or his dragon had ruled there, had that mountain roared,” he replied. “But it does smoke.”

The news of the smoking mountain in the lands of Mordor still drew a cold shiver down Smaug’s spine whenever he asked about it.  He hated being so close to those lands living just at the very edge of Rhovanion. Though Mordor itself laid far by a thousand miles or so to the south, just being on the same side of the Misty Mountain as it was was not to the dragon’s liking. 

And at times he longed to take flight and head west to the lands of Arnor, perhaps settling down in the Blue Mountains, though moving the gold would prove to be rather difficult.  That was another reason why Smaug wanted to make friends with the traders, if he ever needed it, he would make sure he had an out to snatch the gold and move it west.

He looked among the wares brought up from the south and east and laid his coins down to buy such rarities off of them.  Helping the traders, he knew very well that would mean more rare goods coming up for him to take and make a part of his collection.  Smaug was intelligent enough to know the merchants needed supplies and that spending a little of the gold would provide him with a far greater profit in the long run.  It also meant that if any dwarf attempted to even retake the mountain from him, they would never truly get all the gold back as it was now lost to the lands in the east and south.

Smaug valued rare items far more than minted gold, items that were hard to come by, goods that had a story to tell of their own.  He would keep them as his own. Though gold still flowed back into the dragon’s mountain up from the Running River. For every bit of gold he dangled in front of the Men on the Lake, he reaped tenfold of that in protection money directly out of the Master’s hands.  

The dragon loved coming down to see his little bustling trade post and his humans going about their daily lives.  He offered them a polite “good morning” if they so passed him as he observed their behaviors. They were like living dolls to him, his toys and he gained much enjoyment from them.  

The dragon shuffled along the maze of wooden boardwalks over the water.  He spied a few Wood Elves there who he paused to greet.

_ “Mae govannen,”  _ he said.  _ “Lend and?” _

_ “Ú-lend hannon le,”  _ said one of the elves.  _ “Suil Trahân in Kulina.” _

_ “No vain i arad,”  _ Smaug then said in passing and the elves dipped their heads politely to him.

He could smell the sweet scent of smoked beef and salted pork and spiced herbs coming from the taverns.  He paused to find a young child in a gray, ruffled dress and white apron selling spicy cooked ham and grilled peppers and squash on wooden skewers.  It made his mouth water just to smell it. Smaug swallowed and slowly hobbled over to her and knelt awkwardly down, as well as he could.

“I shall take two, if you please,” he said in a low hiss.  The girl nodded.

“Mama,” she said, turning back to her mother who then poured a little bit of sherry onto the sticks.  Then, she lit the on fire.

“Ah, very nice,” said Smaug.  He then plopped a few gold and some silver down into the child’s hands and took the sticks.

“Thank you, sir,” said the girl with a quick bob of her knees in a curtsy.

Smaug dipped his hooded head.  Not many knew about the eating habits of dragons, but many preferred their meat cooked well with their fiery breath.  However, Smaug was not above tasting the food cooked by these mortals whom he ruled over. Taking some of their food was again akin to him taking his fair cut of what they had to offer.  He was not only someone who appreciates fine wares of gold, silver, and sparkling gems and rare silks from afar, he pleased himself upon tasting fine cooked food. Such pleasures was indeed rare to him and he hoarded it well in his stomach.  

He slipped a piece of green pepper from the stick into his mouth after he quickly blew out the flames.  Then, he placed the first stick entirely in his mouth, locking onto the last bit of spiced pork and slid the empty stick out.  The dragon tossed it off into the lake and down the other, chewing with satisfaction. Then, he tossed second stick into the canal.

“I should have the Master fine you for littering, Old Man!” called a rather gurgling, sniveling voice from behind him.

Smaug sneered and turned to the human had called to him.  There, standing before him was a short, skinny, sort of man with yellowing teeth and a black coat.  The coat looked to be made of fine silk and richly embroidered, but stains and lint had dulled it. His ruffled collar was stained brown.  Smaug could smell the stench of fish upon him and he growled. Of course, such stench was everywhere in this town. There were other horrible smells that came forth from Esgaroth, the smell of feces and urine as the Men of Long Lake used the water as their plumbing.

Smaug stepped forward and pointed at the man.

“You will do well never to fine your King for such trivialities,” he said. “Alfrid.”

“Smaug the Terrible,” Alfrid whispered as he took a bow. “I mean, Your Grace, Smaug.  Our Protector and Mountain King.”

“Has the Master set aside anything for me this month?” Smaug asked. “He is late of course.”

“Indeed,” said Alfrid. “Come with me, I’ll show you what we have.”

He followed towards the center of town, into the more elaborate Master’s House.  He reached out to open the stain glass and decorative wooden and brass doors, but the doors would not budge.  Alfrid grunted wiggling the handle, shaking loose a dusting of snow from the shingles above. The snow showered upon Smaug and the dragon growled, brushing it off.  Afrid turned, swallowing hard as he heard the dragon’s impatient and frustrated warble. 

“Um, I think the door is frozen shut,” he said.

“Maybe it is locked,” said Smaug.

Afrid grinned and nodded, pulling out a ring of keys.

“Let’s see, this is the dungeon key,” he said as he fingered through them. “The storeroom key.  Um, this is the key to my mother’s house. The…um… _ special _ house…”

“The brothel?” Smaug asked.

“That one.  I suggest you stop by but…um…do dragons…I could suggest this lovely filly named Gilgada.  She has this thing she does with her tongue…”

Smaug snarled, his eyes glowing fiercely upon the Master’s assistant.  Alfrid shrank back as he felt the heat of the dragon’s breath upon his face and smoke rising up from the lip of the hood.

“The door!” the dragon said in a deep growl.  _ “Now!” _

“The door,” he said. “Of course, Your Grace.  But it appears to be frozen. It isn’t locked!”

The dragon shoved the man aside and then leaned in to the crack of the double doors.  He pulled his hood only far enough back and pressed his muzzle against the crack itself.  Then, with a swift exhale, he sent forth a rush of searing hot air through. There was a crackling sound coming from inside as the moisture between the doors melted and broke off.  Then, the dragon turned the knob and opened the door.

“Oh, that works too!” said Alfrid. “Master!  Master! You have a very esteemed visitor.”

“Who is it?” asked a thick voice as a rather large belly and tattering, but decorative vest and a frilly shirt.  He wrapped himself in his stained, red velvety robe as he wobbled down his creaky stairs. His eyes lit up as he saw Smaug lower his hood down and leaned to brush a lock of his mane away from his eyes.  The Master swallowed, his breath froze. “Your…Your Grace! Welcome! I wasn’t expecting you…today. More like…last week.”

“I arrive precisely when I need to,” said Smaug. “Which means you always should be ready to receive me.”

“Of course, sire!” said the Master. “Of course!  How foolish of me.”

“It is foolish,” said Smaug as he passed the Master.  He craned his neck around and grinned a fanged grin at the fat human. “Of you.”

The Master curled his hands into fists and pressed his lips together and swallowed dryly.  He fought back an insult he desperately wanted to say to the dragon as he found living more treasured.  Though his thoughts did not go unheard by Smaug as he leaned closely, meeting the dumpy man eye to eye. The dragon hissed and licked his lips.

“Perhaps I could offer you a seat,” he said. “Please.  Alfrid! Breakfast!” The Master watched as the dragon settled down upon his patched couch. “Care for some…eggs?  Bacon? Bacon and eggs? Dice, spice potatoes?”

“Everything that you are having,” replied Smaug.

“Of course,” he said. “Yes.  Alfrid, spare the Mountain King a plate, if you will!”

Smaug sniffed as he rumbled: “I will have your plate as well.”

“My plate too,” said the Master, bowing. “Yes.  Both plates, Afrid! Hurry up!”

“Yes, sir,” said Alfrid as he rushed quickly passed the swinging doors into the kitchen.

“My food, my house, is all yours, King Smaug,” said the Master as he folded his fingers together. 

“Yes, they are.”

The Master’s ginger colored, crooked mustache twitched upon the dragon’s words and his eye fluttered.  Smaug rumbled and turned around to look upon the various bound books behind him and the decorative painting of the Master looking much thinner and less balding than he does now.  The dragon could not tell if this painting was made when the Master was much younger or if it was made currently, only altered to make the Master appear younger, a little more handsome than he does now…which was not by much to most humans.

“What have you got for me today, dear Master?” Smaug asked as he turned back around, with a hungry smile. “Anything of worth to keep me from destroying your town this month?”

“Yes,” said the Master. “I have some fine silks from Rhûn!  And a lovely tapestry woven by the looms of Gondor!”

“Not another tapestry of their dead white tree,” the dragon said with a heavy sigh as the Master held up the long, silver and blue tapestry woven with heavy fleece, velvet blue, and silvery threads.

“No, this one has the White Tree of Gondor in full bloom!” said the Master as he held it up to the dragon. “See!  No dead tree this time.”

“It seems the Gondorians are getting a little hopeful,” said the dragon. “The White Tree only blooms when the true King of Gondor shall return.  And they haven’t had a king since the last scuffle with the Betrayer.”

“Hopes of the masses,” said the Master. “I mean, it’s the only thing they can do to keep the cheer up since Minas Tirith has that dreadful view of the Black Land.  Depressing, I say.” He leaned the tapestry down to Smaug. “Here feel that, eh? See how it shines!”

Smaug only looked away, and waved a dismissing paw at the Master.

“Next,” he said.

“Alright,” said the Master. “Ah, here!  Here is something from the land beyond Rhûn with a mixture of Harad styles.  You love the look of gold, and of gold coins, well, here is gold coins woven right into this fine silk cloth.  I believe they call it a sabag…”

“Sarong,” said Smaug. “What they make their dresses out of.  Just wrap a piece of large cloth around their hips.”

“Right, that,” said the Master. “See, the gold coins are woven into the edges.”  He gave the sarong a good shake to make the gold coins jingle. “And take a good look at this exquisite pattern woven into the cloth!”  He held it up for the dragon to inspect. The cloth had a bold blue dye with streaks of white and frosty blue in banded patterns radiating out from the edges of the cloth like ripples in a pond.  

“This isn’t woven,” he said. “It was dyed.”

“Yes, that’s what it is!” said the Master. “They tie the cloth off with linen thongs, I believe and then dip it into the dye.  Tie-dye? I think that is what it’s called. Tie-dye. The Easterlings call it by some other name, I can’t pronounce it. This one particular, I believe, the labor involved much stitching, bundling, and tying, deep indigo from some of their famous dye pits and a splash of purple root.”  He waved it around in front of the dragon. “Listen to how it jingles. Jingle, jingle!”

Smaug curled a talon around the cloth to feel its fine soft, high thread count and shimmering surface.  

“It is very shear,” said the Master. “The women would wear this and dance for the men by shaking their hips, letting the gold coins jingle.”  He proceeded to wrap the sarong around his own hips, and shaking them right in front of the dragon. “See?”

Smaug’s eyes widened and his jaw became slack while the Master continued to dance in front of him, popping his hips at the dragon each time he drew near.  Smaug’s face slowly faded from just average annoyance to confused horror. Then, the dragon raised a claw up.

“Stop!” he bellowed. “Stop!  Enough! I do not need a demonstration!  Fine, I’ll take the sarong and the…Gondor tapestry.  Just stop shaking your…hips so near to me.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Thank you for the nightmares I shall have for the next couple of days.  And if you shake your backside at me one more time, I will set fire to your house at the least!”

The dragon’s ears twitched as he heard Alfrid come through the kitchen doors, carrying two plates of hot breakfast.  His snout took in the scent and he sighed. However, he could not get the image of the Master shaking his posterior in front of him as a desperate attempt to sell this month’s tithe.  Smaug’s mouth pulled back in a frown and as Alfrid set the plate right in the dragon’s lap. He pushed the plate away.

“I just lost my appetite,” he said with a deep, disgusted growl.

“Oh, sorry,” said Afrid. “Forgiveness, Your Grace!”

Smaug lowered his head into his paws and wagged it with exhaustion.

“Please, tell me you have something else that doesn’t require a…dance,” he said as he peered upon the Master with weary, drooping eyes.

The Master set the sarong down and then held up a necklace, heavy with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

“A necklace we managed to acquire from the Iron Hills,” the Master said.

“Lovely!” said Smaug as he rose to his feet. “I will take them.  And your town is once more safe for another month. But a word of advice, dear Master of the Long Lake, leave the dancing for the girls in your brothel!”

“Yes, sir,” said the Master. “Alfrid, pack these lovely treats up for our illustrious Mountain King to take them back to his home.”

“One more thing,” Smaug said as he was about leave. “There will be thirteen Dwarves heading here from the Woodland Realm.  And they will be wanting to go to the mountain. Provide them with weapons and supplies and send them on their way.”

“What for?” the Master asked.

“For my amusement.”

And as Smaug had made his way out with his goods in tow, the Master watched and waved while the dragon in the cloak hobbled off back towards the mountain.  Then, he slowly slid back into his house.

“This is becoming worrisome,” he said. “I do what I can to make this town safe from that beastie and he makes off with the cream of the crop!”

“That is what dragons do, sir,” said Alfrid. “They are rather good at it.”

“It has to stop,” said the Master. “This has to stop.  Our town was once a bustling metropolis upon the lake, the trade capital of the north!  Then that dragon moved in, and it all went downhill.” He looked out the window to see a darken shadow fly overhead and a rush of wind dispersing the fog. “There has to be a way to get rid of him.”

“That dragon is so powerful,” began Alfrid. “Not even the finest army the Dwarves of Erebor had could keep him from their halls.  There is no defeating him.”

“I do not believe in the impossible,” said the Master. “There is always a way.”


	10. The Dragon and the Bargeman

**_The Dragon and the Bargeman_ **

 

Smaug made his way down the boardwalk, weaving his way between the denizens of Laketown.  His keen eyes spied a bargeman tossing his bows and arrows and other supplies into his boat.  The bargeman’s son was helping him load the supplies. The bargeman had a noble brow and gray streaks spliced his dark hair.  The tufts of curls pulled back from his face.

“Bard!” Smaug called, his pace quickened. “There you are!”

The bargeman grumbled as he turned away from the hooded dragon.  Smaug reached out and grasped his shoulder, pulling him closer.

“Bard,” he said. “Good.  Glad I was able to catch you before you shoved off.”

“What do you want, Old Man?” Bard asked.  He leaned in closer to push away the edge of the hood to see at last Smaug’s face.

“I don’t have your rent this month, nor last month’s rent either,” he said. “If you would at least give me some time to get my family out, you can burn the place down for all I care.”

“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about that,” said Smaug. “The Master has paid the Mountain King his dues.  I won’t be back to burn the place for another month.”

“Good,” said Bard, tossing a knapsack into the boat. “Then I don’t have to deal with you today.”

“I will make it worth your time, mortal,” said Smaug.

“Not interested,” said Bard.

A rumbling came from deep within the tall man and he gripped his belly.  Smaug chuckled, his ears curling to the sound.

“Did you skip breakfast?” he asked. “Not very healthy.”

“It was more important my children eat rather than me,” he said.

“Don’t have enough money to buy food for yourself or your family,” said Smaug. “I think what I have to offer will be of good use to you.”

Bard sniffed and shook his head.  He piled himself into the boat.

“Bain, the rope,” said Bard.

Smaug rumbled and before Bain could untie his father’s boat from the docks, the dragon had fumbled himself upon the bow.

“What are you doing?” Bard asked. “Get off my barge, you…”

Smaug poked his head up, the hood had fallen off his head.

“Lankey lizard…” Bard said with a heavy sigh.

“Go on, Bain!” Smaug said. “Push us off…”

“Get off my boat!”

“Come on, Bard,” said Smaug, pulling the hood back over his head before a villager could see him. “At least listen to what I have to say.  My offer.”

“Off my boat!”

“I can’t discuss it with you on the docks,” said Smaug. “Too many ears...to many eyes.”

“What’s the matter, worm?” Bard asked. “Made off with the best of the pile from this morning’s shipment?  The Master probably didn’t like it.”

“What do I care what that bloated fat oaf likes or not?” Smaug snorted. “Come now, Bard.  At least hear what I have to offer, and then you can refuse me or not.”

“Talk for as long as it takes us to reach the southern shore, dragon,” said Bard. “And no further.”

Smaug leaned against the railing, giving a nod of agreement.

“You’ve made your conditions clear,” he said. “As you wish.  Push us off, Bain!”

“Go on, Bain,” said Bard as he gave his son a reassuring nod.

The young lad tossed the rope upon the boat and pushed it off.  He gave a final wave to his father and then ran off for home.

The fog had begun to roll in as the barge made its way past the icy islands along the black waters.  Slowly, the barge wound its way through ancient ruined bridges carved of stone, who they were for and what had been long since forgotten.  Remnants of a bygone age when the lake was more prosperous before the coming of the dragon. Snow began to pile around the stone and icicles hung from below.  

Smaug turned north and spied a shadowy peak through the gray mists.  His mountain of Erebor. He sighed and pulled the hood from his head.  He turned back to the bargeman and smiled.

“What is this proposition you have for me?” Bard asked.

“Down the River Running will come the empty barrels from the Woodland Elves,” said Smaug.

“As they usually do,” said Bard. “That is where I am heading for now.  You plan on paying me to do the job I always do? Hardly seems worth the time of a scheming and conniving worm such as you.”

Smaug turned towards a quiver of black, iron arrows leaning against the rail.  He reached out and pulled one from the quiver.

“These are looking a little dull,” said Smaug.

“I haven’t had the money to sharpen them,” said Bard.

“I think I can give you the money you need,” he said. “And then some.”

“The southern shore is fast approaching,” said Bard. “What is it you want me to do?”

“These barrels coming down...twelve to fourteen of them…” he said. “They will not be empty.”

Bard sneered: “More of your underhanded dealings, dragon?  I want no part of it.”

Smaug rumbled, tossing the arrow aside.

“I should throw you into the water!” Bard said. “Go find another bargemen!”

“Not wise to threaten a dragon,” said Smaug, his eyes glowing brightly.

“Or what?  You eat me?  Burn my home?  We’re living on borrowed time as it is with you as King Under the Mountain.  Safe this month, but the next? Two months later? A year later? If you don’t find what taxes the fat Master leeches from us suitable, we’re as good as ash anyway.  You don’t scare me anymore. Why should I fear what I cannot change? No business in fearing you now. I’m dead either way.”

The dragon cleared his throat and laid his head to the railing.

“Those barrels will have thirteen dwarves in them,” said Smaug. “And a halfling.”

“Thirteen dwarves and a halfling?”

“Shire folk,” said Smaug. “You know. I’ve never smelled anything like him.  Maybe it’s because I haven’t been west of the Misty Mountains in an Age.”

Bard pulled back on the oar and slowed the barge down.

“Dwarves coming to the mountain?”

“I have heard your legends,” said Smaug. “For nearly 60 years or so.  Really it’s not that hard to miss, you all sing it every night. How can a dragon sleep with such noise?”

Bard shook his head and paddled on.

“Dwarves have been in these parts before,” he said. “A century ago lest I heard of them.  Never came back when they tried to enter the mountain. I bet you burned them, or ate them, or a combination of the two.”

“Indeed,” said Smaug. “So I did.  But these dwarves didn’t have Thorin Oakenshield with them.”

“Thorin?”

“Oh, I know his smell better than most,” said Smaug. “What did those old song say if the so-called ‘true’ King Under the Mountain would return?  Hmm?”

“Gold flows from the mountain and the lake will shine and burn,” said Bard. “Shine...and burn…”

“Could mean many things,” said Smaug. “Gold would flow down the mountain again making the light glint in golden radiance under the sun, or it could mean the marauding fire of the dragon setting the lake ablaze.  I’d hate for Laketown to burn...I’ve made quite an investment in it. And I have been a generous king, after all. Letting trade to continue in my shadow. Just as it did in the days of old, eh?”

“So, what do you want me to do with it?” Bard asked. “With Thorin and his...dwarfs?  You want me to keep them from coming up into the mountain?”

“I will leave that to your own discretion,” said Smaug. “But you will end up with a lot of trouble considering what may be following them.  Maybe it will not be the fires of this Great Urulóki you have to worry about.”

“And what is that?”

“That would be telling too much,” said Smaug as he pulled out a pouch. “But sneaking them in Laketown, that is all I wish for you to worry about.  How much...let’s see...here…”

He tossed the pouch to Bard.

“Take all of it,” he said. “Give your family a decent dinner for once.”

“My family has suffered since you came here, worm,” said Bard. “All the way to my great-great-grandfather Girion.”

“Nasty business that was, eh?” Smaug asked as the barge pulled upon the shore.

The dragon hopped out upon his all fours.  His form engulfed in flames, vanishing within the heat.  The fire whirled about and swelled until it took its shape.  The flames licked and were at last doused to reveal the red-golden dragon in all his terrible grandness.  Smaug tugged on the belt to the scabbard holding the Biter to his back. He spread his massive wings, the mists swirling around him in spirals and waves.

“Nasty business?” Bard asked. “That’s all it ever was to you?”

A gush of wind from the dragon’s great wings and the man toppled backwards upon his boat.

“I’ve seen generations of men come and go with but a blink of an eye,” said Smaug. “Thousands of lifetimes I have dwelled upon this world.  One life matters little to so many that have come and gone. Girion is gone, but his legacy lives on, is that not good enough?”

Bard brought out his pole and began to push off.

“There is about fifty gold coins left in that purse,” said Smaug. “I think that should be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“What do I care?” he asked. “Not my business what you do with it.”

Smaug lowered his head, his neck craning it close to Bard.  He dipped down and one golden eye filled the bargeman’s vision.  All he could see was his own reflection ringed in the brilliance of the dragon’s orb.

“But one word of advice,” the dragon continued, his voice coming to a soft, rumble as he spoke. “If the lake will shine and burn as the song says it will, if I were you, I would not stay there long enough to see it.”

Smaug turned towards Erebor and bounded off, his wings carrying him back over the length of the lake.

His great wings beat silently, the sound was nothing more than a rush of wind to the Men of Lake Town, who were used to swells surging over the town.  Banking to the left, the dragon flew over the ruined, gray land, the Desolation of Smaug. The city of Dale, blackened, crumbling, and cold. Then, only another two miles laid the burnt gates of Erebor.  The stone statues of dwarven warriors still stood vigil upon the great gates, but they now protected a home to a dragon, rather than the home to their former masters. Smaug’s wings angled as he lowered down to the ground.  Gray dust rose up around him, swept up by the powerful wind off his wings. The red-golden dragon folded his wings limply to his side and slowly walked before the city of Dale. Clouds slowly began descend upon the sky. A single flake of snow lightly fell upon the dragon’s snout and Smaug looked up.  More and more flakes fell. Winter was fast approaching. Fall snow was common upon the mountain. Sometimes, snow fell even in the summer due to its high altitude. The whole mountain was chillingly quiet.

Smaug growled and whips of vapor escaped his mouth, heated by the fire deep inside of him.  His tail swished against the ground, zigzagging like the tail of a serpent. He extended his wings and leapt upon a snowy ledge and peered out upon the valley and the great lake below.  Lake Town looked nothing more than a dark spot upon the silvery lake. Browning leaves upon the trees rustled.

“It should take them a week to get here,” Smaug said to himself. “I know they are coming here.”  

He craned his head around to the green, stained bronze doors.

“Though the only place they can enter is through the main gate.”  

He spread his wings and glided towards the gate with a slow whoosh.  Then, the dragon landed before it.

“I will have to block it.”

As he entered the grand halls, Smaug extended a wing out and with its gripping talons, shut the doors behind him.  The dragon’s eyes glowed fiercely, casting a spotlight upon the door as he growled, taking in a deep breath. Smoke whips flowed from his nostrils and they glowed.  Then, Smaug opened his mouth, his fire leaping forth from his jaws. His flames had a combustive quality. They could rip apart any armor, any fortifications, rendering them as metal death traps for those who put them up.  Though, he could control this power. Heat is what he needed to help seal the doors and he breathed the heat of heat upon the doors. Within just a minute, the bronze doors started to glow, swelling with the heat. Their surface began to melt, closing the gap between them.  Glowing cracks along the walls etched into rock walls as the stone cracked under the heat of the dragon’s flames.

Smaug’s brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he thought upon Tauriel and cursed himself for not snatching her up on his flight over here.  He knew the elf’s skills within the woods. She would never show herself unless she wanted to be seen. She could conceal herself even from his senses.  He had to admire how well she could fool him.

He tugged at the leather belt hung around his neck and reached to pull it forward.  Smaug breathed heavily as he pulled Orcrist free from the sheath to check upon its silvery surface.  The glow of his eyes flashed upon the blade, giving it a fiery glow and for a mere moment, Smaug was startled by it.  His heart leapt into his throat with a powerful thump, and then, quietened.

“Glows blue when orcs or goblin men are near,” he said in a heavy, relieved sigh.  As he exhaled, his breath shook. Smaug swung the sword once more behind his back, nestling it between his wings.  “Get a hold of yourself, you’re being spooked by your own eyes.”

As Smaug grazed a talon across golden leaflet walls, he focused his reflection upon them.   

“I’ve got it,” he said. “The forges.”

He slithered swiftly through the depths of the mountain, climbing, winding through bridges, alcoves, tunnels, and pits.  He steadied himself with the talons of his great wings, crawling upon the walls and ceilings like an enormous bat. Finally, he came to the great forges of Erebor, enormous ovens where the dwarves smelted and purified the precious of metals from their raw ores.  For over two hundred years, these great forges laid cold under the mountain, disused. Above were chain belts carrying carts of ore, gold, iron, mithril in blocks yet to be refined. A great mechanism rolled them over powered by waterwheels from the fresh tributaries of the River Running.  Smaug laid behind bars locked by dwarves as they evacuated the mountain, those who could escape during his attack. The dragon arched his head back and spat forth his rushing flames. The grated gates exploded, their shard pieces smoldering from his fire. The red-golden dragon climbed into the smithy of the dwarves.

He paused and pulled Orcrist from the sheath, checking on the blade’s color.  Not a single spark of blue came from it.

“It didn’t glow two hours ago, what makes you think it will now?” Smaug asked himself.  Sadly, he only had himself to talk to. “I’m being spooked by my own anticipation, my own nerves.”  He kicked himself. “Not even dignified for a dragon of my caliber, being spooked by an elven sword.”

Smaug growled and a talon from his wing grazed upon the lever leading to the water pipes.  The dragon’s forepaws shifted underneath him as the finger of his wing pressed down upon the lever and the valve opened up, letting loose a torrent of water upon the wheels.  The gears creaked to life, wheels turning and the conveyor belt chain began to move. The dragon arched his neck and released his breath upon the forges, blanketing the floors and walls in fire, making them glow, making them hot.  The forges roared to life. The whole smithy was aglow with fiery light.

The dragon rounded to the other side of the forges, where the pedals and fire bellows to feed the flames with more air, making them hotter.  He positioned his back against the rock walls and squeezed his feet upon the bellows. With his feet, he started to work the pedals as blue flames breathed out from the vents around the forges.  Inside the huge cauldrons was harden gold left for the smiths to mint their coins. Smaug breathed upon the sides of the cauldrons sitting upon their forges, helping them to heat up faster and melt the gold quicker.  

He had an odd knowledge of spells, some particular involving gold.  The one thing he learned was how to make light as bright as the sun by enchanting golden sheets, flat objects dipped in smooth gold.  Orcs were not fond of the sun, they hated it. They always traveled in darkness or overcast days. Smaug, however, could survive in the sun despite his heinous origins.  Most dragons were immune to its light and Smaug was no different. He actually enjoyed the sun for once it shined upon his scales, turning them gold, and the combination of that spell, he could easily blind his foes.  

The dragon paused and checked upon the cauldrons, seeing the gold turn into liquid fire, glowing like lava from a volcano.  Smaug stopped and searched through the smithy for sheets of metal to dip into the gold. He wanted to make a series of mirrors.

Sheets of steel laid strewn along the hallways, uncut.  He dragged them to the forges and dipped them in, coating their surfaces with the gold.  They were polished by his flames until he could see his own reflection upon their surfaces.  Smaug laid them out along the walls, driving stakes to hang them upon. As he lined them up, he prepared the spell.

_“Ainar alka lumbule!”_ the dragon bellowed as he slammed his paw into the ground.  Light like the sun beamed from each golden mirror and the whole corridor near the front gate lit up as day.  The light was so bright, its flashes could be seen as a beam of radiance seeped through the cracks and out into the growing darkness of night over Lake Town.  The light could not be overlooked by the Lake Men who pointed with awe of seeing it.

Nor did it go unnoticed by Thorin and his traveling company, or the Lake Man Bard who brought them into Lake Town under the Master’s nose only a few days after Smaug had returned to the mountain.

“That light?” began Bilbo as he peered out the dirty glass window in Bard’s house. “Why is it coming from the mountain?”

“Our songs speak of a tale, a legend that one day the real King Under the Mountain will return,” began Bard. “He’ll reignite the forges, and the river will run with gold from the mountain.  The lake will shine in burn. But it’s only a legend. The only King Under the Mountain is that evil worm Smaug.” He peered out the window. “As for the light. I only hope it is only gas from the mirk along the shores and I pray it be not dragon fire.  We had not heard a whisper from that dragon in 60 years.” He paused and looked to his dwarven guests. “Though some say the dragon does fly. Flies right over our town and towards Mirkwood Forest. Never bothers our town, never during these sightings has he even set his flames upon us.  He leaves us alone then, if the stories of his secret fights are true.”

“When does he fly?” asked Thorin.

“He’s mostly spotted either at sunset or sunrise,” replied Bain. “I’ve seen him.  I see the shadow of his wings against the fog. It’s always at high fog, sunrise or sunset.  But Smaug never visits here.”

“I can only hope you see just a thrush flying by,” said Bard with a frown.

“No, da,” he said. “It was Smaug.  He flies off to Mirkwood at sunset and returns the following morning at sunrise.  He’s a fast flyer especially if he can get to that forest in under just a few hours.”

Thorin turned to lock his eyes upon Bard’s: “Smaug leaves the mountain?”

“Witness say he only does it once every ten years,” said Bard. “Nearing Midsummer’s Eve when the fog is at its thickest.  The shadow of the dragon’s wings can be seen in the fog. He’s not seen for a few days, then returns. But more sightings have become rather frequent, as if the dragon is becoming restless.”  He peered out the window again. “And now this glow coming from the mountain.”

“Did you see him recently?” asked Thorin, looking to the dusty brown-haired human boy.

“Aye, sir,” Bain replied. “Only a few days ago.  Again from Mirkwood. He was returning in a hurry.”

“Mirkwood?”

Thorin swung to Kili who still held to his wounded leg.  The young dwarf thought back to the strange cloaked being Tauriel was speaking to, the sound of his voice, the hint of disdain when he spoke to the dwarf.  And the smell. The stench of sulfur. It was the smell of a dragon, though he could speak like an elf.

“You alright?” asked Bilbo as he sat with the dwarf.

“Um, yeah,” Kili replied. “You ever smelled dragon before, Bilbo?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“They stink, like rotten eggs, yeah?  Dragons, you know, they can speak just about any language, especially the really smart and powerful ones, ones stories are made of.  Smaug, I wonder if Smaug can speak other languages other than common Westron. Dwarvish, perhaps, or even Elvish. Orc tongue.”

“Why are you asking this?” Bilbo asked.

“That creature in the Woodland Realm,” he said. “The one who spoke Elvish to Tauriel.  The one who she…I suppose it was her…lover…I don’t know. He smelled like a dragon, you know?  He had all the hatred of us dwarves like the elves normally would. And she called him something strange.  She called him “Monster” in Sindarin. Smaug going to Mirkwood. So far-fetched, yet. He truly did reek of dragon.  I can’t mistake that smell. My mother had a cloak that smelled like dragon from when she fled the mountain. But he reeked of it.”

The dark-haired dwarf leaned back and then smiled.

“She’s really pretty,” he said. “For an elf.”

“You like her?” Bilbo asked.

“Well, I mean, she doesn’t seem like an elf,” said Kili. “She’s different.  A little rougher around the edges. You should have seen how she took down that spider.”  

Kili grinned.

“There’s an elf who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.”

“Da, the light went out!” said Bain.  His little sister clutched to his arm and his elder sister only stared upon the mountain’s foreboding shadow.

Bard shook his head and then his eyes fell upon a strangely shaped rack which hung two flower pots.  To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing more than that, a rack, but Bard knew very well what it was.  It was the very last black arrow that could only be fired from a mounted rigging called a Windlancer. The black arrow was the windlance and it was especially designed to kill dragons.  However, although Girion, Lord of Dale, tried to slay the dragon with such a weapon, Smaug’s hide was too tough even for the black arrows. Though there was one spot nicked, the one in his left breast, right above his heart.  

“Rest here,” he said to the dwarves. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you the weapons and supplies you seek.  I’ll try my best to sneak you out of town after that.”

Though, Balin had stated they were only heading for the Iron Hills to throw Bard off the trail, Thorin had a feeling this human may be some trouble.  He only nodded as Bard showed them to where they could sleep for the night.


	11. The Conversation

**_The Conversation_ **

 

The next weeks that followed, Smaug had done his best to cover specific pathways with the gold mirrors he created.  Movement would make them glow with sunlight if any orc had ventured between the mirrors. He took to resting upon his hoard after his labors, seeping underneath the golden mounds.  He heard the whispers again over the last few days, the whispers were that now came from Lake Town. Smaug held Orcrist close to him, the sword and sheath rested beside the dragon and one claw upon its hilt.  Periodically, Smaug would awaken from his shallow sleep to check the glow of the blade. So far, it remained cold and dim. He exhaled a hot breath under his folded wings, taking some comfort from his own heat.  He curled his wings tighter around his body and tried to drift once more back to slumber.

The mirrors would alert him to either the movements of orc or the movements of dwarves.  They all lined the front gate where he suspected both enemies would attempt to come through.  Finally, he allowed himself to drift, allowing the darkness of slumber to grip him and pull him away.

Though, ever in his dreams, that voice did whisper.  He saw an eye peering upon him, wrapped in flames. It looked like an eye of a lidless cat.  That eye burned upon into his own and Smaug shrank back from it.

_“Trakûl,”_ said the voice, that voice he fearfully recognized.

“Leave me alone!” Smaug bellowed back. “I will not answer you!  Go away! Go away!”

_“Trakûl, thrakub lab u-izish,”_ said the voice.

“No, no I won’t,” whispered Smaug under his sleep.

_“Thrakub,”_ said the voice.  Smaug felt strange, sickening, taloned fingers curl around his throat. _“Urdanog-izg lat.  Gujat-izg-ûr lat. Thrakub-izish latûr.  Azgazatu-glob, âdhn-Erebor agh thrak-izishû lat.”_

“I am not listening,” said Smaug. _“Hoshat, globûrz-burzum lat!  Kurr urdanogub-izish!”_

He felt the wind in his lungs being sucked out as the taloned hand closed in upon his throat.  Smaug started to cough, choking upon his own air as it slowly turned foul with every breath. His wings spread and thrashed, sending coins everywhere.  He gripped the belt upon his neck that still held the sword and opened his eyes. The air under the coins turned poisoned in his lungs and a horrible stench, far worse than his own smell, assaulted his snout, burning right through.  Smaug rose up from the mounds and mounds of coins and unbuckled the belt from his throat. He grabbed the sword and lifted up partially from its sheath. The blade was still cold.

“Then what be that horrible sound?” he whispered to himself.

Smaug’s heart jumped as he heard something crash through the mounds of treasure.  The air felt different, colder, draftier. He could smell the fresh air of the outside come creeping in.  Then, he smell something else, the scent of dwarves!

Smaug knew their scent very well.  Though the halls still smelled of dwarf, especially since a few years back, some of them attempted to return to the mountain, only to die huddled together in darkness in fear of the dragon’s wrath.  But this scent was far fresher than the lingering musk of the dwarven halls. This scent smelled like the dwarves who came from the Woodland Realm. Then, there was that new smell, the one he was not familiar with, the smell of spices and weed.  

The _Hobbit!_

He could feel the warm breath of the little creature upon his scales, he could hear his tiny heart beating in his chest and he heard his muffled “ouches” and “oh”s as the tiny man made his way across the sea of gold, jewels, and weapons.  He clanked around, searching for something. Smaug looked around, his eyes igniting with their glow, casting their golden light upon the hoard. Then, the sound of searching stopped as he started to move towards this little burglar.

Smaug smoothly walked over the treasure, careful not to shaken it too much.  Then, he heard something clammer upon the coins and then bounce away.

“Well, thief!” Smaug said in a hushed tone. “Where are you?”

He lowered his head and braced his weight upon his wings, using them as a third pair of legs as he began to slither across the hoard.  His tail uncoiled from under the mounds of riches, coins catching in the shaggy, furred ruff trailing down his spine. It slammed upon a pillar, breaking a piece from the base and sending it crashing into the gold.  His spotlights flashed over another mound as he heard another sound. His nose continued to sniff the air.

“I smell you!” he said. “I feel your air.  I hear your breath.” He came very close to where he smelled the creature. “Come now, don’t be shy.  Step into the light! Help yourself. There’s plenty and to spare!”

The breath under him gasped with shuddering fear.  Smaug lowered his head closer to the sound and suddenly he was sent into that Shadowy place.  The gold he guarded turned pale and tarnished, and grimy. The walls were cracked and old, withering away before his eyes.  Smaug turned down. Now he could see the little creature.

“There you are!” he said. “I see you now!  Thief in the Shadows.”

The hobbit swallowed, whimpering almost as he darted against the wall.  His back up against it. Smaug could hear his heart fluttering.

“You…you can see me?” the hobbit asked, horrified that not even the magic ring he found could not conceal him from Smaug’s eyes.

You have something,” said Smaug. “Something special, something made of gold…but far more… _precious..._ ”

Smaug’s voice rang in the little hobbit’s head like a bell and a hammer pounding against his temples.  The word ‘precious’ repeating over and over, thumping, jostling, bouncing in his ears.

A voice whispered from the ring, whispering to him.  Though he could barely make out the words now. Still the whispering droned on, becoming louder, yet muddied, like a roar of a lion and the hiss of a snake.

He closed his eyes and trembled, tearing the ring from his finger and they both were returned to the regular world.

“That’s better,” Smaug said as the pain faded. “Much better.”

“I…I don’t mean to steal from you…O Smaug the Magnificent,” said the little man before him, trembling with every word.  “I…only wanted to look upon you and see if you were as…great as the tales say…” He closed his eyes, almost in tears with fright as Smaug leaned his great eye closer to look at him.  The hobbit whimpered with a high-pitched, shouting voice. “I did not believe them.”

“Have you?” Smaug asked.  He backed away and wound himself across the floor.  Then, he rose to his full height, spreading his great wings before his little visitor and then thundered. “And do you _NOW?!”_

His voice echoed off, trembling the walls around him and the little man shrank back.

“Truly, the songs and tales fall utterly short of your…enormity,” the thief replied, placing his trembling hands together. “O Smaug, the Stupendous. Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities!”

“Do you think flattery will keep you alive?” Smaug asked, craning his head up.

“Um, no?”

“No indeed!”

The dragon shifted leaning back down upon his forepaws and wings, sliding ever closer to the hobbit.

“You seem rather familiar with my name, but I don’t recall ever smelling you before,” said Smaug, of course this was a lie. “Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?”

“Um, of course,” said the thief. “You…you may.  I…I come from under the hill…”

“Under the hill?” Smaug asked as he slowly crept closer.

“Yes, and under hill and over hill,” the thief continued. “My paths’ led.  And…through the air! I…I am he who walks unseen.”

“Lovely titles,” remarked Smaug with a low purr, bidding the thief to go on.

“I’m the Ring-Winner and the Luck-Wearer,” said the hobbit as Smaug shifted around.  The hobbit began to back away, heading under the staircase as Smaug’s glowing eyes focused upon him.  He could feel himself falling closer and closer under the dragon’s spell. “Spider-Stinger.”

“Go on…”

“I drown my friends…and then draw them alive again from the water…”

Smaug chuckled: “Don’t let your imagination get the better of you...O Boastful Thief.”

“The…the Clue-Finder and the Barrel-Rider!”

“Barrel-Rider!” Smaug said with an airy laugh. “Now that is interesting.”

He snorted and a flicker of his flames danced around the edges of his nostrils.  Smaug’s eyes lit up even brighter.

“I swear…O Smaug the…Un-obscenely Wealthy,” the thief continued, trying to placate the dragon as best as he could. “I truly did not come here for your…gold.  Just to have the honor of seeing your _magnificence!”_

“Such nice manners for a little thief and a liar,” Smaug said as he once more slid closer to the hobbit. “Perhaps I should impart some words of wisdom to you as well.  Never have anything to do with dwarves…than you can handle.”

“What?”

“And your dwarf friends, where are they?  Hmmm? Are they outside right now?”

“D…dwarves?” asked the hobbit. “I am truly, and terribly sorry, but you’ve got that all wrong.  I have nothing to do with…dwarves.”

Smaug growled as he pulled back, his paw thumped upon the staircase above the hobbit.  He could feel shaking with his great weight, the stone cracking.

“Don’t talk to me!” the dragon hissed as his other foreleg slammed into another pillar, toppling it with a thunderous quake. “I know the smell and taste of dwarf, no one better!”

The hobbit ducked and rolled upon the gold as pieces of the staircase above him broke off.  The dragon snapped his jaws upon the thief. The hobbit backed up upon a pillar and Smaug’s nose came closer to him, so close he could smell the dragon’s sulfuric breath, feel the hot air, and even reach out and touch the dragon’s lower lip.  The teeth inside that huge mouth were longer than he was tall, and the dragon’s tusks were the size of houses. The hobbit waved his hand in front of him, trying to fan away the horrible smell of the dragon’s breath.

“Do you not think that a pack of filthy dwarves who came crawling back to the mountain would go unnoticed by me?”

Smaug bellowed as he slammed his tail upon the floor.  The hobbit fell backwards, tumbling down a hill of gold coins and sparkling jewels.

“That I would not know this day would come?” Smaug asked. “You think you and your little dwarf friends can come in here and steal my gold?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about!” said the hobbit as he got up.

Smaug growled and took to the air right inside the vast chamber, gliding lowly with his wings over the mounds of gold as the little hobbit attempted to flee under a fallen pillar.  The dragon landed in a wave of gold, his wings snapped to his back.

“And how do you expect to get all of this off the mountain?” Smaug asked. “With the toll and cartage alone, you’d end up less than what you started.  Are you going to ask your tub-thumping Lakemen trash to come up here and help you? You think you could snatch it out from under my nose while I am out looking for them?  Was that his plan?”

Bilbo wagged his head, holding his arms out.  He could not answer one bit of the dragon’s question.

“I know you are traveling with him, little liar,” said the dragon. “I know it.  Now, it is time for my riddle.”

Smaug backed away and sifted through the gold.  As the hobbit curiously stepped out from the pillar, he saw the dragon lift up an enormous sword in a leather sheath.  He could not believe that people made swords that could fit dragons. Then, he recognized its shape. Smaug drew the sword and stood it upon its point, showing the intricate, gracefully curved blade and the carvings of ancient Gondolin runes upon its surface.

“Whose sword does this belong to?” the dragon asked.

“Thorin,” the hobbit replied and then clapped his hand upon his mouth, realizing the name he just gave out.

“Mr. Ring-Winner, you and I need to have that little chat I told you we would have when you came here,” said Smaug.

“The cloaked person in the Woodland Realm,” said the hobbit. “You…you’re him?”

“Indeed,” he said.

Smaug shifted, snaking his head closer to the hobbit.

“How close were those orcs following Thorin’s company?” Smaug asked, swiftly changing the subject.

The hobbit only sat upon the gold, wagging his head.

“Don’t lie.”

“I…honestly don’t know,” he replied. “Perhaps a day?”

“Did they come from Dol Guldur?”

“I…I don’t know,” said the hobbit. “Maybe?  Why?”

The hobbit looked up, seeing the dragon back away as he took up Orcrist and unsheathed it, checking on whether or not it was glowing.  The blade remained dark.

“You’re expecting them,” said the thief.

“Indeed.”

He sheathed the sword again.  Then, the hobbit took his sword out to look upon its surface.  Smaug noted the flash of the rather short sword, which looked like nothing more than a dagger, and moved in slowly.  Placing the belt around his neck like a collar, allowing the scabbard to hang between his wing blades.

 

“You possess a blade from Gondolin as well?” he asked. “Did you find it along with Orcrist?”

“Yes…yes,” said the hobbit.

“Was Orcrist’s brother with it?”

“Who?”

“Glamdring?” asked Smaug. “The Foe Hammer…the Beater?  Was it with your little dagger and Orcrist?”

“Yes.”

“Two legendary swords found side by side,” said Smaug as he settled down upon the gold. “How on earth did those dwarves find these blades?”

“By accident.  They were found in a cave...trolls had them.”

“Trolls?” Smaug tilted his head. “Trolls had these swords…”

The hobbit sounded defeated, just giving whatever answer the dragon wanted now, straight, no riddles, no rhymes, and no lies.

“Don’t look so gloomy,” said Smaug. “The world isn’t ending just yet.  There maybe still time to save it. Who can say?”

He shifted around, curled his neck to get a better view of the little hobbit.

“I wonder if Thorin thought about what he was going to do in slaying a dragon,” said Smaug. “How he was going to do it with only 13 dwarves and one burglar at his disposal?   It merely took me half a day to conquer two kingdoms, and I was not even trying. Just think how devastating I can be if I did.”

Smaug began to circle his enormous body around the little hobbit, his eyes never leaving him.  He growled and curled his neck.

“But if you think your friends can defeat me, think again!” he said. “My armor is like tenfold shields.  No blade can pierce me.”

He snapped his jaws.

“My teeth are like swords.”  

His raised his claws and slammed them into stone. “My claws are spears!”  

His tail whipped, snapping into another pillar as rock and debris thundered down, splashing into the golden mounds.

“The shock of my tail is a thunderbolt!”  

He extended his wings out and gave them a hearty flap, knocking the poor hobbit back. “My wings are a hurricane!”  

Then Smaug’s mouth started to glow as he unleashed his breath upon the ceiling, the heat swelling all around him.

“My breath is death!”

Smaug snapped his head back to the hobbit and roared, thundering towards the hapless thief.

“But I believe that is where you come in,” he said. “That is what your job is for.  Do all the dangerous work and they get all the credit.”

Smaug lowered himself down.

“And you believe that you are going to get a share of the hoard?”  

His claw rose up, slinging a wave of gold into the air as he began to climb upon the broken pillars.  The hobbit rolled as he felt the coins shower upon him. Smaug snapped his head down.

“You think I would part with a single coin to him?  Or perhaps the Arkenstone? You are only a means to an end.  Thorin Oakenshield is like his grandfather. This is all he cares about, the gold I lay upon.  Nothing more.”

“You’re wrong,” said the hobbit. “We are friends, Thorin and I.”

“You are nothing to him!” Smaug said with a hiss as he swung his head closer again, knocking the hobbit backwards. “But you do mean something to me.  The ring you carry.”

“My ring,” said the hobbit as he reached into the pocket, clutching the ring tightly. “How is it you could see me?”

“Yes, that is indeed a riddle that _must_ be answered,” Smaug replied with some amusement.  “But for now, I have not the answer. And neither do you.”  

His head knelt down and his snout bumped against the pocket.  Once more, he saw the Great Eye staring back at him, whispering his name.  Smaug withdrew as the hobbit scampered away from him, frightened again.

“Perhaps before you go, I shall impart a small bit of advice.  Do not trust Thorin Oakenshield. He is not your friend.”

Smaug allowed the coins to clank again.

“This hoard is his friend.  His only friend. He is so much like his grandfather, greedy, selfish.  And as soon as you give him what he wants, he would soon cast you aside.”

The hobbit continued to wag his head, taking no council from his words.

“Perhaps a little demonstration is an order,” said the dragon, tilting his head to the hobbit.

Smaug reached up and with a claw, knocked loose one of the diamonds from his underbelly, a diamond that was covering a particular spot.  Or what looked like a diamond at first. The jewel seemed to glow with its own light, a light cast by the moon and sun. It shimmered radiantly as it dropped to the hoard and bounced between Smaug’s forefeet.  The hobbit looked up to see now a vacant spot, exposed pale tan flesh where that one stone was. Right under his left breast. The dragon flicked the Arkenstone towards the hobbit’s feet.

“I am tempted to let you take it,” he said with a sinister growl in his throat. “Just to watch Thorin’s own sanity wither.  Watch him be driven mad at the sight of it! Did you not know of the curse which lies upon this treasure hoard? Just you wait.  One look at this gem, and nothing in the world will matter to him.”

Smaug grinned a wicked grin.

“Take it up to him and you will see the true face of your so-called friend.  And then, you will know the real reason why I am now King Under the Mountain and not Thorin.”

 

* * *

 

“He has been down there a long time,” said Balin. “The rumbling and the glowing has stopped.”

Thorin paced, looking vacant.

“I am worried about him,” said Balin.

“He’s fine,” said Thorin.

“Fine?” Balin asked.  He reached for Thorin, touching his shoulder. “I don’t think so.  Something is wrong. We have to go down there.”

“And be burned alive?”

“He is a part of this company.”

“He’s our burglar.  He knew the risks.”

Balin wagged his head, staring upon the open secret door.  Then, he step through, stepping down into the halls.

“Balin!” Thorin called. “Come back here!”

The elderly dwarf continued to file into the darkness.  He drew his own sword and continued onward. As he descended the dark staircase, he could feel the warmth of the lower chambers growing and voices echoing off the rock walls.  Two voices, one familiar to him and it gave him much relief to hear it, but another deeper, monstrous. That voice sent a frightening chill down Balin’s spine. The elderly dwarf groomed his silvery beard and slowly leaned in.  There he spied Smaug, awake as all horror could be. The dragon was roused and talking to the lone hobbit Bilbo. Bilbo now climbed up the staircase and sat at a level close to Smaug’s head. And they were talking, just talking.

“…And then you will know the real reason why I am now King Under the Mountain and not Thorin.”

Smaug had said in a low growl.

“Take it up to him.  Let it poison him, Mr. Barrel-Rider.  I will gain so much joy when he finally succumbs to the sickness that befell his grandfather.  I can only imagine that Thrór died with less of a mind than he had when he first came to Erebor.  And his father? Thrain? What was his doom?”

“Madness,” said Bilbo. “And alone.”

“As I suspected!” Smaug chuckled almost gleefully. “The line of Durin is slowly drawing to a close.  And when Thorin comes to me, demanding his Arkenstone…just you wait. He will turn upon you as well! You’ll be lucky to leave here alive.  He will see you as an enemy trying to take his gold. At least death by dragon fire is more…merciful.”

Bilbo’s head lowered.

“I believe this conversation has come to an end,” said Smaug as Balin swiftly ran back up to the opening.

“Thorin!” he called. “Thorin!  Please, you must help Bilbo!”

Thorin stood, drawing his sword.

 

* * *

 

“I am even willing to give up the gold to him to further prove my point,” the dragon hissed, his forked tongue flickering out between his thick lips.

Bilbo sat gasping at the dragon’s words.   _Giving up the gold?_  Now it seems Smaug had a grip of madness as well.  Though, his baleful eyes looked upon the hobbit and the pocket that he carried his magic ring in.  

“Give it up, for a moment,” he said. “And when that which drove Thrór mad takes Thorin as well…I do believe you know what happened next if you had been paying attention to his story.”

Bilbo backed up towards the stairs, swallowing as Smaug watched him, snaking his head closer to him.

“One last thing, Mr. Barrel-Rider,” he said. “That ring you carry.  Keep it safe. It is… _precious_ to me.”

Bilbo gripped his pocket again, his heart thumping into his throat.  The ring in his pocket felt hot to the touch, pulsating as Smaug spoke.

“Precious?” Bilbo asked.

“Indeed, _precioussss_ …”

“My ring?”

“Your _ring_.”

Bilbo swallowed as he pulled the ring out.  He could hear the whispers, though Smaug could hear them much louder.  Smaug’s own heart thumped against his ribcage and his breath became labored upon looking upon it.  His head pounded. The dragon felt the wind be stolen from his lungs once more as Bilbo caressed the smooth surface of the ring, almost looking upon it with admiration.  

“I would not put it on!” the dragon bellowed, nearly causing the hobbit to drop the ring. “Please, do not put it on!”

“Why?” Bilbo whispered as he looked upon the dragon who seemed a little weaker when he held the ring in his hand.  Smaug leaned down, gripping his chest, his head swimming. He felt heavy once more.

“Never mind…” the dragon said. “Just do as I say!”  He looked upon Bilbo. “Do as I say.”

He heard the sound of clanking and heavy footfalls through the corridors above.  Smaug’s eyes widened as he saw Thorin and the others come storming in, their weapons drawn.  Though there were only seven of the original thirteen in the mountain, the others were missing.  Especially the one called Kili who Tauriel fancied. Smaug’s lips curled in a sneer when he looked upon Thorin.

“Well, well,” began Smaug. “This is a dear treat.  Thorin Oakenshield.” He then smiled. _“Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ.”_

“Learned our language finally, worm?” asked Thorin.

“Languages are a hobby of mine,” said Smaug. “It passes the lonely long years being stuck inside a mountain, sleeping on stolen dwarven gold.  I’ve read a few of your rather interesting little books, children’s bedtime stories and the like. Entertaining.”

“Then perhaps you’d understand this,” Thorin began. “ _Ghelek menu caragû rukhs.”_

“That wasn’t nice,” Smaug said as he started to step up heavily upon the staircase.

“Wasn’t meant to be, slug.”

Smaug growled lowly, the glow between his jaws brightened.  Already, they could feel the heat off his jaws as his flames fed their way up his throat.

“Thorin,” began Balin. “It is unwise to taunt a dragon.”  He looked to the graying prince. “In _any_ language.”

“I’m with Balin,” said Gloin. “Not unless you want to be roasted.”

Smaug’s thrumming quickened: “I was about to be rather hospitable towards you, Oakenshield.  But it seems you much rather sling mud into my eyes! Then, let me return the kindness!”

“Bilbo!” Thorin called.  “Run, now!”

Just as the dragon was about to breathe his flames, Bilbo scampered up the stairs, joining his friends.  Smaug belched his fire, the force exploding upon their backs. Bilbo heard Balin call out in agony as it seared upon the hairs of the back of his head, turning their tips black.  His coat ignited into flames. Nor was Bilbo any safer. His eyes squinted, drying in the heat. Then, the force of the explosive fire sent them flying nearly off the edge. Dwalin slid off, only to catch a brass banister to stop his fall.

“Blast it all!” he called. “I’m gonna skin that worm!”

“Hang on, I’ve got you!” Thorin called as he reached out to grab the balding, tattooed dwarf. “Take my hand!”

Gloin reached over the side to grip Dwain’s thick, brown tunic.

“I got yah, laddie,” he said.

Dwalin kicked up, trying to swing himself to the edge as the dwarves pulled upon him.  Bilbo felt the air around the cool corridors and railings suddenly heat up and a deep, thunderous growl sounded.  He leaned over the rails to see the warg head of Smaug crane itself upward from the lower levels.

“The dragon!” he called. “The dragon!”

“I see him,” said Thorin.

Smaug gripped the sides of the walls with his wings and thrusted his huge jaws forward, snapping at them.  Opening his jaws wide, the glow of his fires lit his throat.

“Thorin,” said Bilbo.

Thorin grunted as he pulled upon Dwalin’s tunic.

“Heave!” he commanded.

They pulled him up just as the dragon’s fires started to lick at his boots.  Dwalin called out with a wail, the heat nearly melting his heels. He kicked as he climbed back onto the edge.  They could feel the heat seep through the stone, crackling fiery light and causing the floor to glow under their feet.  The heat seared into the leather soles of their boots and the dwarves and hobbit ran again, searching desperately for anything cool to stand upon.  The heat was a sting like no other they had felt, but their fear kept them moving despite the pain. The heat chased them, the glow of the floor spreading.  They ducked deep into a small room, cold and dark. Dwalin settled down and pulled his boots off, and then his hot stockings.

“Give me a moment,” he said as he angled his feet up, taking comfort from the cool air.

“The dragon’s fire,” said Balin. “I have forgotten its deadliness.  Even being near it, you are assured a good scalding and blisters and welts.”  He knelt down to inspect Dwalin’s feet. “If only Oin was here. Can you walk?”

“Stings a might,” said Dwalin.

Balin looked over to Thorin: “I don’t want to leave him with that dragon on the prowl.”

“He was willing to give you the hoard, Thorin,” said Bilbo. “If you had not insulted him so.”

Thorin sneered in disgust at the hobbit.

“And you fell for his shrewd words?” he asked. “No dragon can ever be trusted to make words of truth and sincerity.  He only baited you.”

Bilbo wagged his head: “You don’t understand…”

“I understand enough,” said Thorin. “That creature was responsible for the death of many of my people!  He stole my home away from me. And you promised to help me get it back.”

“I did,” said Bilbo. “I did.  I promised. And I may had found a way.”

“There is only one way,” said Thorin. “The Arkenstone.  Did you get it?”

“The Arkenstone?” Bilbo asked. “Well I…”

Thorin walked slowly to him, looking upon the hobbit with steely eyes.

“Did you or didn’t you?”

“Thorin…I think you need to know…”

“The Arkenstone, burglar,” said Thorin, holding out his thick hand. “Give it to me.”

“Thorin!” Balin said. “Stop it.”

Bilbo shook his head and hefted a sigh: “I’m…I’m sorry.  I don’t have it. He wouldn’t let me finish looking. I…I was trying to run for my life, trying not be cooked by dragon fire.”  He wagged his head again. “I couldn’t get it with Smaug…on that hoard.”

Thorin huffed, breathing a black lock from his face.  He grunted and leaned against the dusty wall with frustration.

“Then, we must slay the beast,” he said. “Before we can ever get the Arkenstone.”

“I’ve got a brilliant idea,” began Dwalin as he rose to his feet, wincing upon their stinging redness. “That filthy worm likes gold?  Then perhaps we should give it to him.”

“How do you mean?” Thorin asked.

“The forges,” said Dwalin. “There must be gold still cold and hard in them.  We light the forges, melt the gold, and pour it upon the dragon! Turn him into a permanent statue, a relic, a memory, and a symbol of our triumph of winning our mountain back!”

“Seal him in gold?” said Gloin. “Yes.  It will boil his insides. It will kill him.”

“Wait, he’s a dragon who breathes fire,” said Bilbo. “What makes you think that boiling him in molten gold will kill him?”

“Heat comes in different temperatures, lad,” said Balin. “Some heat you can withstand and some you cannot.  Smaug may have a good resistance against heat, but I highly doubt he could take molten metal upon his scales.  He would cook from the inside out.”

They all sat in silence amid Dwalin’s plan.  Then after much thought, Bombur spoke.

“Well, we can’t just sit around here and wait for death, can we?”

“It is better than nothing,” said Dwalin. “I don’t see anyone else coming up with a plan.”

“How do we lure him into the forges?” asked Balin.

“Simple,” said Thorin. “We lure him with the only thing he responds to.  Insult upon his ego.”

“And a mighty ego that dragon has,” said Bombur.

“Aye,” said Dwalin. “His head is bigger than mine.”

“Then, if we are to die in fire, we will all die together,” said Thorin.

The heard the sound of the walls quaking, dust falling from the cracks in the ceiling.  A hissing sound and then a growl and they saw the leathery wings of the dragon pass through the door.  Darted from the door, running in the opposite direction. Smaug’s tail came down with a quaking slap and the company split up upon its landing.  The dragon growled and turned back. He grinned, smoke appearing from his nostrils.

“Yes!” he said with taunting glee. “Flee, flee!  Run! There is nowhere to hide, no escape!”

They ran as fast as they could but only felt the searing heat of the dragon’s flames speeding behind them.  Dwalin and Gloin took a corridor while Bilbo and Balin took another. Thorin and the others leapt down into the shoots.

“Over here, you ugly old bat lizard!” said Gloin.

“Yeah, here, doggy face!”

Smaug growled: “Doggy face?”

“Your head’s supposed to look like a warg,” said Dwalin. “I don’t think it comes even close.  A warg is better lookin’ than ye.”

“Smells better too!” said Gloin.

“You will all burn!” Smaug bellowed.

They leapt into the shoots just before the dragon’s fire flowed over them.  Smaug roared again, diving down into the vast depths in his raging pursuit. Dwalin swung upon the chain conveyor belt as Smaug began to rise out of the pit below.  The dwarf took out his axe and began to cut the heavy chain loose, allowing its load to fall painfully upon the dragon’s neck. Smaug plummeted down the shaft, scraping his scales upon the rock walls.  He reached out with a claw and dug it in, and then another, slowing his descent. Bucking his head, the load fell below him, crashing into the inky depths below.

Above, Thorin and the others had made it into the forges to find the grated gate blasted open, melted by dragon fire.  The forges were still lit, burning hot.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why are the forges lit?”

“Someone’s using the furnaces,” said Balin. “Who would?”

Thorin looked behind him, hearing the dragon climb out of the pit.

“He turned them on,” the dwarven prince said.  He leaned over as Smaug rose up, climbing completely out of the pit. “Why have you turned them on?”

“Do you think I would be so outwitted?” asked Smaug. “That I would not busy myself with some labor in Erebor?  I knew what it was who follows you.”

Thorin backed away as Smaug stomped forward.

“A pale orc on a white warg?” Smaug said. “Yes, I have seen him.”

“Where?”

Smaug looked to Bilbo and grinned sinisterly.

“Why don’t you ask your burglar, Oakenshield?” he asked.  He reared back to pull Orcrist from its sheath. “Ask him why I have this.”

He stood the elven sword upon its point proudly.  Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at Bilbo.

“How did he get that sword?” Thorin asked, his voice grating, filled with rage. “Where did he get that sword?”

“The Woodland Realm,” said Bilbo. “I…I tried to tell you, Thorin.  There is something going on here, something bigger than just a quest to reclaim your homeland!”

“Oh yes,” said Smaug. “Indeed there is, Oakenshield.  And you just disrupted it. It would have been wiser to just let sleeping dragons be.  They are better off with me as King Under the Mountain.”

“Never,” said Thorin. “This is Dwarf land and Dwarf gold!  This is not your kingdom! We will have it back!”

“You will take nothing from me, dwarf,” said Smaug as he sheathed the sword. “Just like I took your mountain, your Arkenstone, I have now taken your sword. I have laid low your warriors of old.  The King Under the Mountain is dead, I took his throne and I hate his people like a wolf among sheep.”

“You think I am scared of a slow, fat, ugly slug like yourself?” asked Thorin. “You think that anyone is scared of you?  You are a joke, dragon. The people of Lake Town laugh at you. They were so assured of our victory that the Master himself gave us his blessing to come up here.”

“So, you’ve had more help than just this little hobbit, eh?” Smaug asked.  His eyes narrowed, his ears flattened upon his head. “This was some sort of scheme concocted by you thieving dwarves and those miserable, tub-thumping Lake Men?  They seek to be rid of their generous king?”

Thorin breathed heavily, knowing he had caught the dragon’s ire.  He smiled as he continued his boast.

“You don’t frighten anyone,” said Thorin. “They go about their business, unabated while you lounge around and grow even fatter, slower.  They waited for the day when I would return. They sang praises and songs upon my arrival. I was treated like a true king there. While you?  Mere chuckles among the drunken men. They wondered if you choked on a coin, or got bored and left.”

Smaug’s ire melted as a grin spread across his lips.  He lifted his head and laughed, shaking the ground, the walls, and the ceiling.

He drew slowly closer to Thorin.

“Who do you think made sure your path through Laketown was left unabated?” he asked. “I told the Master of your coming.  The bargeman who brought you here, his name was Bard, wasn’t it? Son Bain, daughters Tilda and Sigrid…”

Thorin’s grin fell.  

“I gave him about fifty gold coins to make sure you got here safely after your little spat with the orcs,” Smaug said.

He chuckled.

“The map and key you have to get in.  It was taken by Thranduil, wasn’t it? Then your burglar got it back within a mere day, didn’t he?  Even with his…ability to be unseen, he would have never gotten close enough to Thranduil to take it from him.  Who do you think was able to bring it your burglar in such a timely manner?”

Thorin turned his head down to Bilbo.

“Oh, the wool has been pulled over your eyes, Thorin,” said Smaug. “Too many times than you can count!”

“You think you’re so clever?” Thorin asked. “Playing this game?”

“Oh the tales of riches, the wealth of Erebor did catch my attention, but it was not enough to bring me here.  No. Thranduil and I are...very good friends.”

Thorin’s mouth widened, his eyes lighting up.

“He was rather hurt when Thrór decided to keep the gems he was going to give his, deceased wife.  Gems to remember her by. But Thrór in his greed took them for his own, stole them right in front of Thranduil’s face.  Thranduil told me you were there when it happened. You witnessed it. And you did nothing, said nothing, as your grandfather stole his wife’s jewels.  So, he asked a favor of his very dear friend, the protector of his realm, the one who saved his life from the Worms of the North...me.”

“No…”

“Perhaps to prove a point to Thrór,” said Smaug. “And he was quite satisfied by the result.  Feel lucky that it was me who came here and not any of my kindred. However, I am not his pet.  I brought you here, Thorin. The moment I knew you were coming, I allowed it. Because no one controls me.  I was willing to make a deal. Now, it is too late. You want the gold, Thorin, have it! Erebor will be your prison.”

He turned away from Thorin, smoke pouring from his jaws.

Smaug slammed through the walls, shards of polished stone fell all about him.  He swiftly made his way across the long hall towards the gate itself. Still, the mirrors were set up, each one waiting to blast their bright sunlight upon any unsuspecting orc.  Smaug paused and then pulled Orcrist from its sheath again, checking for the blue glow. Still, nothing.

“They are taking their sweet time,” he said. “No matter, I shall get a bit of entertainment from my flight over Lake Town.”

Bilbo rushed out, following the dragon’s swishing, snake-like tail as he made his way to the gate.

“Wait!” Bilbo cried. “You cannot go to Lake Town!”

Smaug paused in his thunderous stomp and returned his glowing gaze upon Bilbo.  Bilbo lifted his hands up.

“This isn’t their fault,” he said. “Please, don’t.”

“Admirable that you care for them,” Smaug said with a little amusement in his tone.  He snaked his way back towards the hobbit, lowering his head.

“I’ll be sure to inform them that at least one of Thorin’s company cared for their safety.”  

The dragon pulled his head back, hissing, his forked tongue flickering across his pale lips.

“I was willing to strike a deal until your boorish dwarf friends decided to ruin it.  So be it. Then, you can watch the Lake Men die for your foolishness. Maybe then, you will have a moment of clarity.”

Smaug snapped his head back towards the gate, his thunderous feet making the floor shake with every fall.  

“No!” Bilbo pleaded. “It is not their fault.  We came up here on our own. We journeyed here on our own.”

“And you will perish on your own,” said Smaug. “I want you to watch.  I want you all to watch and see why you should have have left well-enough alone!”

The dragon grinned.

“By my will has Laketown remained safe,” he said. “My will!  Just as I have told you of Thranduil’s plan, so shall I share them yours.  Letting them know that Thorin’s greed is the cause of their misery!”

He turned again, growling as he came to the exit, ready to slam a claw into its face and break open the seal.

“And where do you think you are going, you witless worm?” asked Thorin.

“I have no time to trifle with you, dwarf,” said Smaug as he turned back, lumbering heavily over to the dwarf upon the ledge of scaffolding. “There’s a prophecy to be fulfilled.  A prophecy which you have decided to fulfill yourself by coming here. So, the Mountain King’s return and the lake will shine and burn! It is time for that now.”

“You will step no further.  I will see to it that you die within this mountain.  You will pay for the lives you took. We will have our revenge!”

“I owe you nothing!”

“We will see about that,” said Thorin. “Now!”

Dwalin’s plan now sprung as the scaffolding began to fall away, the rocks dropping off to reveal something golden shimmering underneath the surface.  Smaug growled, his eyes narrowed as he looked upon white-hot, molten statue of Thrór. Though, he could feel the heat coming off that statue, the molten gold had not even been quenched.  Then, the statue began to melt under its own weight, collapsing in a sea of liquid, white-hot gold. Smaug stepped back as the gold splashed upon him in a wave. He flopped wetly in the hot, gold slime and it covered him.  The dragon disappeared into the pool of hot gold. Thorin looked on and then patted Dwalin.

“Told ya it would work,” the hefty, balding dwarf said.

Though, at a moment too sooner than said, Smaug erupted forth from the gold, flapping his wings wildly.  The dragon righted himself, coming to his all fours.

“Impossible!” Balin called in disbelief. “That gold should have killed him, boiled him alive!”

Smaug turned back, splashing molten metal, slinging the chunks around from his face.

“You think that molten gold can stop me?” he asked. “I have bathed in the hottest fire upon this earth, in the blackest of mountains!”

And to much of Thorin’s surprise, even Orcrist seemed unharmed by the gold.  

The only thing Bilbo could think of was Smaug’s magic possibly protecting it.

“Revenge, you say?” Smaug asked, gold continuing to drip from him. “Admirable.  But let me show you what real fury and vengeance looks like. The prophecy you wished to fulfill shall.  Now, the lake shall shine and burn!”

Smaug growled as he made for the gate.  He rammed right through, breaking a decent, dragon-sized hole with his explosive fire.  Shards of melted, white hot rock were sent flying off the mountain. Behind him, the pool of molten gold poured out, carrying the glow of the light inside along with it.  Smaug launched into the air with a bellow and spun as glittering flecks of gold slung in a spiral around him, a golden trail flowed out from him as he swished his tail in the air.  The dragon folded his great wings, diving down only to reopen them in a glide, baking off towards the town. Smaug flapped his wings and angled himself out, following the river to Long Lake.  Behind him, Bilbo and the dwarves ran out the broken door and to the cliffside.

“What have we done?” Bilbo asked, looking on as the black shape of the dragon flew down towards the lake bound city.


	12. Lake Shall Shine and Burn

**_Lake Shall Shine and Burn_ **

 

While in mid flight, and the closer his wings brought him to the city, Smaug caught a glimpse of a bluish glow radiating out from the crack between the sheath and the hilt of the sword.  Then, he dove down towards the ground, only gliding upon the bank of the lake. Smaug landed and pulled Orcrist from its sheath. His breath became unsteady as he gazed upon its glowing surface.  The markings etched into the blade held a soft azure light, the edge held a soft, cold, flickering halo around it. He pulled it completely from the scabbard and then pointed right at Lake Town. The glow only intensified.

“So, he’s sent his orcs to Lake Town,” Smaug remarked. “Why?  Why not up the mountain? Why not…to me?”

Then, he looked south again, sheathing the sword and taking to the air.  Smaug flew up higher and higher until the rim of the world fell away. There, in the south, there was an unmistakable glow, a dull reddish glow.  Smaug closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath.

“You want me.  Did you need to get rid of Thorin first before you could have me?  You think Thorin would kill me? To keep me out of your hands?”

His eyes opened, burning like fire.

“You have nothing to worry about.  I intend not to join you no matter who dies tonight.”

Smaug snapped the sword back into the sheath and buckled it down to keep it from dropping into the lake.

“I shall be rid of two distractions,” he said. “That horrid town and the orcs who decided to visit.  A message to _him_ .  And only _him._ ”

Smaug took to the sky, spiraling as he flew.  The wind off his wings dispersed the fog clinging to the chilly lake.  The glow of his fires spread across the surface, casting a golden flicker through the river and over the lake.  The dragon could hear the sounds of singing from Lake Town.

 

_The King beneath the mountains,_

_The king of carven stone,_

_The lord of silver fountains,_

_Shall come unto his own!_

 

_His wealth shall flow in fountains_

_And the rivers golden run,_

_The Streams shall run in gladness,_

_And the lake shall shine and burn._

 

Though, amid the cheers and the songs as the river ran gold from the mountain, Smaug flew on, his scales shined like orange fire in the crescent, midnight moon.  Little did he know that the one he cherished far more than gold itself had followed the trail of orcs to Lake Town. Tauriel had traveled long, running as swiftly as she could behind the pack and slaughtering any orc who strayed.  Behind her was Legolas. The elven prince promised Smaug he would not see any harm come to her.

She came to the house of Bard but did not find him there to mind the dwarves who stayed behind.  Though more orcs cried out for the slaughter, and Legolas called to her to follow him, Tauriel could not.  She heard the agonizing cries of Kili as he held his wound. The arrow head was working its way deeper into his system.  The elf captain could not let him die, nor could she let him suffer. Tauriel went in search of an herb she knew would help, arthelas, only to come upon who had found it for her.  Bofur and Oin looked on, listening as Tauriel chanted, grinding the leaves up to press upon Kili’s wound. The wound’s poison was slow as it traveled through his system over the week.  She was more than happy to have caught it on time.

_“Menno o non na hon i elias annen annin,”_ she whispered continuously. _“Hon leitho o ‘gurth.”_

She paused, hearing something swoop on down and the wind shut the window with a slam.  Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Trahân,” she whispered. “Trahân?  At least give me some time to escape.”

“The dragon,” said Tilda. “It’s the dragon!”

“Stay calm,” said Sigrid.

“Where’s Da?” she asked. “Where’s Bain?”

Bofur came to Tilda, placing a comforting hand upon her arm.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure your father is safe and your brother.  But, we’ll take care of ya until they get home.”

Tauriel opened the window and looked out upon the filthy town and the blackened night.  She spied the flap of a wing and then, nothing.

“What are you doing, Trahân?” she whispered when she saw a shadowy form cross the walkway.  She spied the glow of an elven sword in the shadowy figure’s hand.

Smaug kept his head down, the hood covering his face.  He sniffed the air, it carried the stench of tar and sewage, but it could not hide the smell of the rubbery, foul flesh of orc.  He stopped, his nose twitching as he caught the scent of orc blood. Turning, the dragon spied an orc’s fallen form, its black blood leaking from its neck, its head somewhere else.  He grimaced, hearing the songs from the humans in their homes, celebrating for the day when the riches will once more pour out from Erebor and down the river. Smaug straightened his back and he looked around.  By the light of the moon, he could see the dead bodies of orcs littering the wooden planks. Then, the cold glow of Orcrist ceased, its blade dark.

“They’ve gone beyond the Biter’s range,” he whispered deeply. “Oh well, I hoped to slay them before I set the town ablaze.”

Then he sheathed the sword and came out upon the lowlights of the torches still lit in the square.  Smaug slinked out of the shadows and then raised his hands.

“The King beneath the mountains,” he bellowed. “The king of carven stone.  The lord of silver fountains shall come unto his own!”

Windows opened as the people of Lake Town looked out into the square, only seeing the being they called the Old Man in the Woods sing the song they sang.  Though his note was rather grim. His tune mocked their merriment and he cackled in the moonlight.

“The woods shall wave on mountains!” Smaug bellowed from under his hood. “And they rise beneath the sun!  His wealth shall flow in fountains, and the rivers golden run!” He pointed to the golden light that lit up the river. “The river runs gold from the mountain!  Come see! Come see, the King Under the Mountain’s return!”

The Master of Laketown grunted as he pushed upon his stain-glass door and sneered upon the Old Man in the Woods.  Smaug turned, hobbling as he does so awkwardly upon two legs, adding to the disguise the Lake Men only knew him as when he would visit.  He pointed a twisted talon at the Master.

“The streams shall run in gladness,” he said. “The lakes shall shine and burn.  And sorrow fail and sadness, at the Mountain-king’s return!”

“I should fine you for disruption of the peace, Old Man!” the Master said.

“Perhaps a dip in the drink would cool him off, sir!” called Alfrid from behind him.

“I’m only adding to the glee that you Lake Men appear to be sharing,” said Smaug. “So happy you sound that I could hear you all the way from the mountain itself!”

“The mountain,” called a young woman. “Have you been up there, Old One?  Did you see the light? Is the Mountain King forging again?”

Smaug chuckled, his eyes narrowed as he turned.

“The golden light you saw?” the dragon asked. “Long has the one called Thorin Oakenshield traveled north.  Long has he not sent down the riches as he promised.” He laid a claw upon her shoulder. “But the light, did it comes from the flames of the great forges of Erebor?”  He leaned in. “Or did it come from the marauding fire of the dragon?”

The young woman gasped, turning away in fear upon the very mentioning of the dragon.

“Enough!” the Master said, clapping his hands. “That is enough!  No doubt Oakenshield has met his end at the jaws of the dragon. Is that right, Old Man?”

Smaug heard the heavy steps of the guards marching towards him.  He grunted and then he released his tail from the folds of his heavy cloak and thumped it upon the wood.  The guards stopped, eyeing the tail with confusion. The Master saw the tail, his eyes wide. He felt his throat grow dry as the Old Man swung around to him.  He pulled down his hood much to the gasping of the people around him.

“Oh don’t play like you are surprised!” he bellowed. “You all knew, or at least had a feeling as to who I was.  It was the little game we played. We all had a good laugh...now at the expense of your Mountain King.”

Smaug turned towards the Master.

“Tell me, you fat, ugly oaf,” he began. “Tell me, where did the riches go when I sent them down from the mountain to you?  Did they go to the hands of the people? Did it go to perhaps clean up the smell? So much I had to deal with that stench, for too long I have smelled it.  Nearly 130 years in fact! The first 40 was fine enough, but then it kept growing and growing. I wonder why I didn’t fly down here and just be rid of you? And I gave you charity.  I allowed this town to continue in the shadow of Erebor.”

The Master locked his jaw when he saw the two fiery colored eyes burn under his heavy brow and a deep thrum, like a mixture of an angry panther, sounded from the fuming dragon.

“I gave you your share of the gold so long as it satisfied me!” Smaug said. “But you did not share with them.”  

He pointed to the downtrodden, glassy-eyed peasants of the town.

“The King Under the Mountain did not share in his wealth either.  And a lesson, a hard lesson, he was taught. His own, his people, were thrown out by greed taking form of fire and fury!  The innocent were punished along with the guilty!”

He walked closer to the Master.

“Not only did you do the same as he with what little you were given, with what was taken from the city of Dale, but you, in your own arrogance, sent Thrór’s grandson up to that mountain.  With what little sanity he has, he hopes that you would share the gold after he reclaims his home. But you and I know better!”

His leathery wings extended out from under the cloak.

“You would keep it for yourself.  But here is the real truth, O Master of the Long Lake…”  

Smoke rose in twin columns from his nostrils.  The fires within him raged on. His body began to glow with a brilliant, ruddy light.  Smaug could feel the fear rise in them, how their breaths seemed to quiver at the sight of him.  The heat swelled, the air rippling and shimmering.

“I know the Mountain King would not share a single coin with any of you,” he said in a growling, low, sinister hiss.

“We...we thought we’d show them the way up so that you could delight in their deaths, King Smaug!” said Alfrid. “Honest.”

“Shut up, Alfrid,” said Smaug. “Plotting behind my back.  Hoping to be rid of me after my generosity of keeping this town, making sure it stays the prosperous port city that it was in the days of old.  You think Thorin will keep Lake Town prosperous?”

“He...did promise us all the gold,” said the Master.

“You know as well as I the gold is cursed.  Dragon Sickness, as it is called. One look upon that gold and he will never share with you.  He will break his promise just as his grandfather did. But I never broke my promise. I sent the riches down the river!  And this is how you repay me.”

“And what of Thorin?” the Master asked. “Have you not slain him?”

“Trapped in the mountain,” said Smaug. “And I have little to worry about him making off with the whole of my hoard.  He can wall himself inside the those cold halls for all I care.”

“No, sire!” Alfrid said, holding out his hands.  Then he turned to the Master and pointed at him. “It was his idea!  He was the one who welcomed Oakenshield! He gave the dwarves everything they needed to climb your mountain!”

“Don’t listen to him!” said the Master.

Alfrid descended the stairs and knelt before Smaug.  He took hold of the dragon’s robes, trembling before him, burying his face in the leather.

“Please, sire, spare me!” he called. “I am innocent of this!  I...I made sure you got that lovely Gondorian tapestry. You said you liked it!”

“Traitor!” the Master shouted. “How dare you abandon me!”

“Sire, I am forever your servant unto my last breath!” Alfrid said, shaking Smaug’s robes.

Smaug kicked the man away: “Get off, you sniveling coward.”

A wing curled down and took hold of Alfrid’s jacket collar, the prehensile fingers lifting him to his feet.  He held him by his collar fast as the man struggled in his grip. Smaug leaned back, steadying himself with his tail as he turned towards the Master.

“Where is it?!” he bellowed.

“Where is what, Your Grace?” the Master asked.

“The gold I lent to you,” said Smaug. “To go to them.  To keep this town lively and in prosperous business that I might take advantage.  The wealth and riches flowing up from Rhûn. My keen ears can hear the sounds of bellies rumbling.  Hungry. I can feel the hearts of these men weaken, malnourished. Where is the money you were ordered to give them?”

“It’s...uh...well…” the Master began.

“You take the top off...your cut of it all,” said Alfrid. “Every month, sire.  Just as you ordered.”

“Take the best,” said Smaug. “But leave the rest, enough to rebuild this town ten times over...regardless to whether or not I destroy it during the month.  And what have you been keeping?”

He took in a deep breath through his snout, lifting it to the chilly night air.

“I smell it!” he rumbled. “Mounds of gold.  The gold I loaned you from the mountain. I can sense its wealth, its worth.  An account of it all, not a single brass button sold.”

He turned to hear the whispers of the people.

“Master of the Long Lake,” Smaug began. “You’re as bad as me.  Sleeping upon mounds of dwarf gold. Must not be too comfortable.”

“Those are taxes,” said the Master. “They will go to...repairs…”

“Oh...don’t lie,” said Smaug. “I can smell that too.”

“I assure you, sire,” said Alfrid. “We’ve given to the needy as promised.”

“I think our business has concluded,” said Smaug. “I have no need of this town anymore.  I cannot risk any more trouble coming up my way. Perhaps it would be better I am left undisturbed.  And my Desolation extend to the lake.”

“No, you can’t!” said Alfrid.

“Please!” said the Master.

The roar of the crowd echoed their sentiments, begging and pleading to the dragon.

He tossed Alfrid to the boardwalk and turned to the men of Long Lake.

“My children, you have disappointed me,” he said. “Have we not lived in peace side by side for two centuries?  Have you not enjoyed my gifts? Long have you lived here with nary a threat of my fires. And this is how you repay your king for such kindness.”

Smaug’s eyes passed to each and every one of them.

“I could have been like the dragons you read about and hear about in song and fable,” he said. “But I saw the potential of this town, what it could mean to me.  And for that, I spared it. And you went about your lives so long as it pleased me.”

Smaug rumbled louder, hobbling closer to the crowd.  He could sense the crowd thinning as a few began to run for the bridges across the water.

“This grievous sin,” he said. “Shall not go unpunished.”

Then he rounded upon the crowd that trembled before him.  The dragon snarled.

“You have shown your filthy actions, O Men of Laketown!” said Smaug.  He swung around and laughed a terrible laugh. His voice trembled the houses, shattered the glass from their windows.

“I am weary of watching this putrid town continue on beneath the shadow of my mountain.  My amusement of you has come to an end. I grow bored of you, my little pets.”

He pointed at the Master.

“By my charity is why you were allowed to continue on under my watchful care.  Clemency, freedom to go about as you please so long as my mountain remained undisturbed.  But you have bitten your Mountain King’s hand! You fell back on your word. You have betrayed your superior!  Now, for this insolence, your town shall burn! _Filu Orodruin-ob ghaash!”_

His body ignited in fire.  The crowd dispersed at the sight and the guards barely holding to their swords, creeping closer.  Smaug leapt like a rocket of flame and fury up into the sky, returning to his true, enormous size.  Then, the sky filled with flames. The dragon circled, his fire leaping from his jaws. Houses exploded, people cried out in terror as they burned.  The flames spread out, the lake did shine and burn.

From Bard’s house, Tauriel looked up, her breath held as she watched Smaug circled around, roaring and spouting fire.  His powerful wings sent a torrent of wind, blowing apart the house where the Master lived. With glee, he watched as that bulbous, fat man ran as fast as he could, pushing his way through the fleeing crowds.  

“Cut the bridges!” called a guard. “To arms!  To arms!”

Tauriel wagged her head.

“The dragon!” said Tilda. “It’s here!”

Kili slowly rose, his leg throbbing still.

“What’s happening?” he asked as he barely got to his feet.  Oin rushed to his side. Fili to the other.

“I have a way to stop this,” said Tauriel. “I have a way to stop him from doing this.”

“How, lass?” asked Oin. “You could do well and fine enough to stop a storm, let alone a mad dragon.”

The house shook, the deafening roar of the dragon filling the air.  

“Even without me trumpet, I can hear that lizard,” said Oin.

“Come on, brother,” said Fili. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

With a moan and a groan, Kili hobbled out, leaning upon the arm of his brother and Oin and Bofur behind him.  Tauriel and Bard’s daughters followed behind him. Tauriel turned to the sky to see Smaug swinging around, blasting another fireball and the force blew away the upper storey of their house.  They ducked down as wood shards fell about them, though the house fell back away from them, crashing upon the flaming plumes of the other burning houses. Kili grunted again as Fili helped him up.  Tauriel looked over to one of the canals.

“We need to find a boat,” she said. “Get him out of here.”  She heard the dragon roar and looked up as he swooped down. _“Trahân!  Dartho le, Trahân! Ni odulen! Avo nago din! Û-nad lachog rhach din! Man ceril? Avo garo!”_ (Smaug!  Don’t do it!  Smaug! Fly! Leave the town alone! Why are you doing this?  Stop it!)

“Trahân?” Kili asked, his eyes befell upon the dragon as he banked around for another pass. “The cloaked man.  Trahân is Smaug. Why was he in the Woodland Kingdom?”

_“Lasto beth nin!”_ Tauriel called again. _“Tíro nin!”_

_“Gaash-izg,”_ bellowed Smaug from above as he set the roofs aflame. _“Matum-izg!”_ (I crush you, I burn you!)

“We need a boat!” said Oin.

“There’s a lot of boats around here,” said Bofur. “You can choose anyone of them.”

“They won’t lead out of the city,” said Sigrid. “The channels are blocked.”

Among the flames, they saw a shadow darting towards the windlass tower.  As houses fell, crumbling beneath the flames, another shape started for the windlass as well.  The Master’s men knocked their arrows and fired upon the dragon. The arrows hit everywhere upon Smaug’s belly, only to ricochet off the diamond armor.  Smaug dived again, a terrible whistling sound screaming across his body as he dove with angered speed towards the blazing town. Then, another shadow waved at them.

“Over here!” called a voice.  They scurried off to the sound of that voice to find a small boy squatting near a fallen beam.

“Bain!” said Tilda. She rushed over to hug her big brother and he returned it, relieved to know she was alright.

“Where is your father, lad?” asked Oin.

“Going through with the plan,” said Bain. “He’s going to set the Black Arrow to the Windlass.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened as she leaned into Bain, taking hold of his arm: “Your father is going to do what?”

“He’s gonna try and slay the dragon!” said Bain.

Tauriel leaned away, her heart quivering, her head pounding.  She spied Smaug coming around for another attack. Then, her keen eyes saw the dark shape climbing the wooden ladder all the way up to the mounted, longbow.

“Trahân, no!” she cried out.  As the dragon made his round again, the light of the moon causing his diamond chest to sparkle like starlight.  Tauriel’s eyes searched his chest, knowing exactly where the bare spot was. She could see it, a black spot against the starlight and nothing protecting it.  Though around his neck hung the leather belt and she could see just a flash of silver metal from a sword. “He’s not protected.”

“This way,” said Bain. “I know where Da’s barge is.”

Tauriel took hold of Kili, bracing his weight upon her shoulders as they shuffled off, following Bain through the blazing city.  

High above as people dove into the cold water to escape the flames, or rowed away as fast as they could in their boats, Bard was already making his way to the very top of the tower where the Windlass was.  He carried with him, painfully in his teeth the Black Arrow. The tower swayed with the blast of Smaug’s powerful wings and the cold ice clinging upon the ladder caused him to slip every inch he made up. His heart quivered as the blood rushed into his aching, pounding head.  The cold air chilled his breath, making him gasp. Still, determination to save the town from the menace that was Smaug the Terrible pushed him forward. He did not do this for the love of the town, nor for the love of the Master, but the love of his family, his wife who had passed two winters back, his son Bain, and his two lovely daughters Sigrid and Tilda.  They are what matters most to him. He cared little for the fame or the glory that might come after slaying such a beast, just the safety of what he had left. He thought he felt a tooth crack as he carted the arrow up. When he finally came to the slippery wooden top, the tower shook again. Down below, the fire leapt forth, licking at the base of the tower. Bard’s muscles achingly rejoice as he scrambled to set the arrow into the long, iron bow.

As Bard began to set the arrow, he looked out along the glow of the lake under the silvery moon and spied a familiar dark shape.  It was his barge. His heart calmed, the beating in his ears softened as he sighed with relief. His children were safe.

Then, he heard a voice call out from the boat.  It sounded elvish. He swung around to find where the dragon was.  Smaug was making another circle, his powerful flames leaping from his jaws and another neighborhood fell to ash.

_“Trahân leithia pilin am cin!”_ (Beware the arrow!)

Much to Bard’s horror, the dragon turned around and took notice of him upon the tower.

“Who the devil is on that boat with my children?” Bard said as he pivoted the bow around.

Smaug flew swiftly over the burning town and touched the now bare spot he had upon the left side of his chest.  He growled, knowing who it was that kept it safe for him. _The Burglar!_

But now he was not armored properly, the Black Arrow could very well pierce straight through his heart.  But would it kill him? Smaug had grown much since he had been in that mountain. And the Black Arrow looked nothing more than a tiny toothpick compared to him.  Though still he was not quite the size of his sire, at least not yet. It would take a few more centuries before he was that large.

Then, his head turned to the barge that floated upon the lake and the voice who spoke to him in Sindarin.  

_“Tauriel?”_ he asked. _“A man oduleg mi Esgaroth?”_ (What are you doing in Esgaroth?)

He slowed his heart and his ears twitched.  His mind focused upon the sounds that called out, as all other noise slowly faded, softening, becoming distant.  He could now hear the voices clearly as if they were standing next to him. They were a mixture of young human voices and

“Da!  The dragon!  The dragon!”

“Da!  Shoot the dragon!”

“Shoot the dragon, lad!”

“Shoot it!”

_“Edraith anin Trahân!”_

Smaug’s eyes roved to the boat and then back to the human who swung the Windlass around.  It was stiff to move, it creaked from the long years of disuse. Then, the dragon growled and turned his chest towards the Windlass.

Bard’s eyes widened as he saw the dragon turn towards him, showing his chest off in the light of the moon.  There, he could see the missing spot, the spot that he knew from legend, the spot Girion knocked loose.

Smaug swooped around the tower.

“Trying to find my naked skin under all those diamonds?” he asked.

“You know, I never really liked you!” Bard called. “And I’m keeping the money you paid me earlier.”

Smaug swooped by again, spiraling closer to the tower.

“Please do,” he said. “Consider it a parting gift.  Well, come on, let’s have it. Avenge your ancestor!”

Bard gripped the handle and fired, seeing his opening.  With a whistle, the arrow shot forth right at the hole in the dragon’s chest.  Smaug felt it go right in, piercing through the tender flesh. There was a horrible hiss and a splatter of his caustic black blood from the wound.  And pain, as if someone had stabbed a sharp needle there. The dragon gave off a low moan as he twitched and dove for the black, cold water below.

The last thing he heard before his ears drowned in the drink was Tauriel screaming his name.

_“Orod od leithio ech garon,”_ he whispered as he hit the water and a mighty wave rushed forth from the splash. _“Annon mina môr…”_ (This my last breath, I give myself to darkness.)

The wave swelled around the barge, sending rushing towards the frozen shore.  They held on as tightly as they could as the barge beached itself. Then, as they got out upon the ground, they watched the great wave crashing upon the town itself and it slowly began to sank.

All around Bard, the water was rushing forth, putting out the fires, but also toppling the tower he stood upon.  He dove into the water just as the tower bowed over, its coldness shocking to his senses. He scrambled through the water, but the current only sank him deeper and deeper.  He could not keep his eyes open, the cold water stinging them. His head throbbed, his body seemed to freeze up and he could feel the slow, chilling hand of death reach out and grab him.  

Then, Bard shivered as he felt something warm close around him.  It was inviting and he cared not about the coldness of the water.  Everything felt warm and comfortable. His body relaxed and he gave into the darkness of the warm water around him, at ease and knowing his children were safe.


End file.
